


Vows Unspoken

by john_adams8



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/john_adams8/pseuds/john_adams8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon Snow leaves the Wall before he takes his vows to join with Robb's army when they march south. In doing so, he changes the course of the War of the Five Kings. </p>
<p>Begins on the morning of the Red Wedding but with flashbacks to fill in the blanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vows Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first work of fan fiction I have ever written, so let me know what you think. The story was just something that was banging around in my head last night, so I thought I would write it down. Its mostly for my own amusement. 
> 
> If this gets a good response, I will probably turn it into a ten chapter story. I have a general idea of where I want to go with it and an ending.

Jon had been on edge all day, prowling the camp without purpose searching for the source of his discomfort. It should have been a happy day, he reasoned. His brother was mollifying the pride of one of his most important and prickly bannermen, old Walder Frey, with a marriage Frey long hoped for. A marriage alliance with a Tully of Riverrun, that was something the upstart house Frey could never before boast.

While most of the Northerners in the makeshift camp outside the Twins southern castle were in a celebratory mood, their good humor was not shared by their brothers in arms sworn to Lord Walder. During his aimless wandering through the camp, he came across scenes that were out of place on such a day. Near the edge of the Frey camp he saw Ser Errick, a knight in the service of Lord Haigh, berate his squire for not having his weapons and armor in good repair.

“I pity the lads in his service, not even given today as a holiday,” Jon mumbled to himself at the time, thinking little of the behavior. He continued with Ghost padding silently at his side, receiving respectful nods from some of the men and disdainful glances from others. As a bastard, he was used to such treatment, brother to the King in the North or not.

Over the course of the morning, as Jon observed more and more of the strange mood permeating the camp, he was convinced that it was the Freys who were the source of the feeling.

“Gods, you would think they prepared for battle and not a wedding between their house and their liege lord. I know Lord Walder was disappointed in Robb’s choice of bride, but why should the common soldiers still be so offended?”

Jon’s thoughts travelled to Riverrun, where the source of the recent discomfort remained with a small garrison. Jeyne Westerling, Queen of the North and Riverlands. A foolish and shy girl who Jon could not bring himself to love despite being his goodsister. Her mother, a calculating and common women, Jon loved even less.

“She knew what she was doing,” Lady Catelyn said of the Westerling girl. “She knew you had more honor than sense. My gods, Robb, you have jeopardized this entire war for a girl whose family can bring no wealth and few men to your cause. And, to top it off, you have offended one of the wealthiest and powerful houses in your new kingdom, not to mention your Northern lords who find the idea of their _Queen_ being a Westerner insulting.”

It was one of the few things in his life that Jon and Lady Stark had even been in total agreement upon, much to Robbs chagrin.

So, out of deference to their hosts, Robb left his wife in his uncle’s castle with only the Blackfish, two hundred men, and the still-chained Jaime Lannister for company. 

Lost in his musings, Jon failed to notice that his feet had taken him to row of tents occupied by Lord Glover’s men. The men of Deepwood Motte, apparently immune to the overbearing mood that weighed on Jon, were drinking and singing like proper men of the North. It was still early, just past midday, so the men were not fully in their cups and quickly noticed Jon, or rather, noticed the pony-sized direwolf at his side.

While Ghost was still utterly silent outside his growls in battle, he was an imposing presence. Taller that his littermate Grey Wind, but not as heavy, Ghost had quickly made a name for himself among the Northern host with his silent ferocity in battle.

In the Whispering Wood, when Jon was cutting men down with ruthless efficiency, Ghost was protecting his rear and picking off any Lannister soldier who was unlucky enough to come near. Towards the end of the engagement, while Jaime Lannister and his retainers were making hard for Robb and cutting down all who got in their way, Ghost proved his worth. Standing over the body of a mortally wounded Torrhen Karstark, the direwolf kept the Kingslayer at bay long enough for Jon and others to join in the fight and relieve an exhausted Daryn Hornwood and a wounded Eddard Karstark.

As he arrived, Jon immediately began to cross swords with Ser Jaime. As soon as they exchanged blows, he knew he had made a mistake.

 _Fuck me, he’s fast_. He knew he would not last more than a minute against the man, whose reputation as the greatest swordsman in Westeros was, in Jon’s opinion, wholly deserved.

Desperately blocking and finding few opportunities to counter, Jon Snow was certain these were his final moments. If this was final day, he resolved, he would die with honor and courage and join Lord Eddard in the afterlife.

He might have, too, had not Ghost chosen that exact moment to make his presence known with a deep and menacing growl just behind the Kingslayer. Momentarily distracted, Lannister lowered his guard.

Seeing what might be his last chance, Jon abandoned sword-play and simply launched himself at the golden-armored knight. Together they fell to the mud and Jon was able to use his leverage on the larger man and keep him pinned long enough to deliver a resounding blow with the pommel of his sword. The Kingslayer went limp.

As Jon struggled to catch his breath and pull himself out of the mud, he felt himself roughly hoisted by two large hands.

“Ha, you’re a fool, Jon Snow, but a brave one,” the Greatjon bellowed at him, clapping him on the shoulder with enough force that Jon went down to a knee, much to the larger man’s pleasure. “Aye, you’re Ned’s son, alright.”

When his head cleared, Jon saw that the battle, really more of a skirmish, had been won and the entire Lannister force either lay dead on the ground or sat disarmed with groups of Northern soldiers guarding them. Northern casualties were minimal and they carried their momentum and good fortune into the battle of the camps just a few days later.

“Penny for your thoughts, Lord Snow?” a deeply-accented northern voice called to him, breaking him from his recollections. Jon looked for the source of the voice and found himself staring at the bearded face of Jonnel Snow.

Jonnel Snow was a lieutenant in the household guard of Lord Galbert Glover, a high position for a man bearing the surname Snow. When they first met on the march south, after Jon had left the Watch without completing his vows, Jon had assumed him to be another bastard of a highborn lord. It was the only explanation for his current positon. _Lord Galbert would have been too young to his be his father, but perhaps Lord Bernarr, Lord Galbert’s father?_

“I’m no highborn bastard like you, Lord Snow,” he responded when Jon finally asked him, after Oxcross. “Me mother was a young maid at Deepwood who lay with a man-at-arms in Lord Tallhart’s company when he was visiting. That would have been, oh, around nine moons before my birth. According to my mother he was a kind man, just not the ‘marrying type’, whatever that means. He sent my mother some coin before he died but I never met him.”

“Forgive me for assuming, I just never knew of a commo– excuse me, non-highborn bastard, with such a position,” John explained.

“Aye, it’s uncommon. But Lord Bernarr was a kind man who took pity on us. He let my mother continue at Deepwood when most would have thrown her out and gave me a better education that most in my position can boast of. I wasn’t given lessons in Old Valyrian like you, Lord Snow, but I can read and write the common tongue well enough and I know my sums.”

Jonnel was a man who knew the goings on in the camp, respected for his position but not lordly enough for men to get nervous speaking their minds around him. If anyone would know about the strange atmosphere, it would be Jonnel, Jon decided.

“Jonnel, does the way our hosts have been acting today seem—“

“Queer? Aye, I wondering if anyone else noticed. I haven’t any explanation for it though. I know few men in the Frey camp well enough to inquire. Have you any friends among them, Lord Snow?”

“None that I would trust to answer honestly. They have little respect for bastards from the North, Lord Eddard’s son or not.”

 “Osric! Come here boy,” Jonnel called to a young boy in the camp. “You are always shirking your duties with that pisspot from the Frey camp, have you noticed anything strange of late?”

“No, sir, nothing strange. Hugo said his master was on him something fierce this morning about his armor and weapons not being ready but his master is a right terror most days, Hugo says.”

“Alright boy, that’s all.” When Osric was out of earshot, Jonnel turned to Jon and whispered, “Aye, I’ve known some right southron cunts in my time, but to want your weapons and armor ready at a moment’s notice on day like today?”

Jon thought back to the scene he saw earlier with the Haigh knight and his squire. Could they simply be overcautious? That didn’t sit well with the impressions he got of Frey men on the march, but maybe when they were this close to home they… No, that didn’t make sense either.

This was no longer idle curiosity; Jon needed to find out what was going on in camp. As stood and made to leave, Jonnel reached out and grabbed his arm.

“The Bolton men are acting strangely as well.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The wedding between Lord Edmure and Lady Roslin was not for a few hours yet but most who would be in attendance were already in the Twins, either getting ready for the festivities or, if they were one of Robbs bannermen, meeting with the King. On any other day Jon would have been there too. He had earned their respect on the battlefield and in councils of war with his reasoned advice and calm attitude.

Despite all this, he had yet to earn even grudging acceptance from Lady Catelyn, his late father’s wife. She had put her foot down that today, the day of her only brother’s wedding, Jon Snow would not be in her sight.

“You have ruined enough family gatherings, but you will not humiliate me on this day. You may have fooled the rest of these men into thinking you are more than you are, but to me you remain my husband’s shame and my dishonor,” she announced to Jon and Robb after a council the day before.

“Mother, Jon has earned their respe—“ Robb began, but Jon cut him off.

“Brother, its fine. Your mother is right, it is not your day or my day. I would not impose on a gathering where I am not wanted.” Lady Catelyn’s rejection and resentment of Jon had long since lost its power to wound him.

Jon walked through the camp towards the Frey tents with a purpose but had no idea how he was going to uncover the truth of the matter. On a hunch, he told Ghost to stay back in the Glover encampment. Without him, he simply looked the part of any other soldier in camp.

Subterfuge did not come naturally to Jon, so he was ill at ease with even this minor deception. Despite his discomfort, no one in the Frey camp looked at him twice when he arrived. While he was tall, taller than his father and Robb, and lithe, he was not an imposing figure—particularly when he was wearing no armor. He strode though the camp to where he suspected the most senior men not given quarters in the Twins would be billeted.

By this time in the day the sun was getting low and fires were beginning to be lit in the camp. As Jon arrived at where he remembered some of the less important sons and grandsons of Lord Walder had their tents, he spotted someone he had not thought to see. Black Walder Frey, a great grandson of Old Walder and not far removed from the lordship of the Crossing as Ser Ryman’s son. He would have been given rooms in the castle, even as tightly packed as it is with guests for this wedding, so what was he doing in the camps mere hours before the wedding itself?

On instinct, Jon followed him from a distance, careful to remain out of sight. He weaved through the tents like a man who knew where he was going, at pace Jon was pressed to keep up with while also remaining inconspicuous. After losing him for a few heart-pounding moments, he spotted him speaking to a group of… Sons? Grandsons? Of Lord Walder. It impossible to keep them apart with their weak chins and wispy facial hair and Jon had long since given up trying.  

Whatever Black Walder was saying to these nameless Freys, they were listening to with rapt attention. Jon was too far away to make out any more than one word in five and it was impossible to move closer without being seen. So he stood there, half hidden by the canvas of a tent flap, and tried to make sense of his speech.

“Bedding…after…musicians…rains…feast…Bolton…wolf…bastard” and so on. Jon could make no sense of the speech and finally decided that Black Walder must simply be telling his kinsmen to behave themselves during the feast in the strongest terms possible. Just as he was about to give up and chastise himself for his foolishness, he heard it.

“Tywin Lannister.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Tywin Lannister”

Hearing that name uttered by Black Walder made Jon’s blood go cold in an instant. He knew that something foul was afoot and needed to warn the camp.

He began to quickly make his way back to the Northerners camp when it hit him. He did not know who to trust, who to tell. Further, he didn’t know what to tell. He knew the Freys were involved in a plot to do something and that it had something to do with the Lannisters. But did that mean they would be involved in a surprise attack on Riverrun? Or, gods forbid, a surprise attack on Robb’s army and the camp Jon was standing in? No, there was no Lannister army close enough to force a march and get to the Twins by now, and besides, the outriders under Jon’s command had been reporting in regularly with no news.

 Further, every lord and landed knight that he could trust without question was in the castle, where Jon could not go without rousing suspicion. The men of the army were in the camp with only their captains, only a few of whom Jon knew by name.

“Jonnel!” The thought hit him like hammer. Yes, Jonnel Snow was the man he would go to. He knew all the captains of the various northern levies and they respected him. He would be a captain himself in short order, the aged leader of Lord Glover’s household having taken a wound that most thought fatal in the most recent battle.

Picking up his pace once free of tents bearing the Frey sigil, Jon arrived in the Glover encampment and looked for Jonnel.   Not seeing him, he began to panic.

“Boy! Your name was Jory, yes? Where is Jonnel, I need to speak with him immediately.” Jon asked the boy with the Frey friend.

“Gone to the Bolton camp, m’lord, just after you left.”

Shit. If Jonnel’s suspicions about the Boltons were correct, he could be in danger. Jon whistled and Ghost emerged from the forest and ran to his side.

“Good boy, you stay by my side tonight, you hear? I might have need of you.”

Ghost stared at Jon silently in acceptance. As Jon was trying to remember the way to where the men of the Dreadfort were camped, he heard Jonnel call out the title that used to irritate Jon to no end, until he realized it was meant in jest, not malice.

“Lord Snow! I had hoped to find you here, we must needs talk.”

“Aye, something is afoot with the Freys.” Jon responded, adding in a lower voice, “something involving Tywin Lannister.”

“The Bolton camp is in a strange state of activity as well, I think it is safe to assume they are involved in whatever is going on. Cregan!” Jonnel called to another lieutenant in Lord Glover’s service, “quietly make sure the men are armed and wear their mail under their surcoats. And make the bloody fools stop drinking!”

When he left, Jon said quietly “We must warn others, who amongst your friends in other households do you trust completely?”

“I have a few names of men who will be discrete when informed. Whatever is happening, it happens tonight from what I could gather from the Boltons. I will rally those camped closest to the Dreadfort men if you will take those closest to the Freys. The Mallisters are billeted around there; their captain is Dennett Mallister, distant cousin to the Lord Mallister. He is a good man, and true.”

“And unlikely to make common cause with a Frey,” Jon said, remembering their history. “I will inform the Blackwoods as well, they are loyal to my brother without question. They will also know who else to inform. When you finish, bring your men to the middle of the camp near the bridge to the south tower.”

“Aye, good. I’ll be off, go with the gods. Oh and Lord Snow? Find yourself some fucking armor.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As Jon suspected, Dennett Mallister did not need much convincing that the Freys were considering betrayal. Upon hearing his words, Ser Dennett immediately summoned his lieutenants tasked them with preparing the men.

“But I will remain with you, Snow, when you enter the Twins,” Ser Dennet announced. “My cousin and liege’s heir are at the mercy of the Freys and the thought alone makes my blood boil. If you are right, everyone in attendance is at their mercy.”

Jon took the moment to regard Ser Dennett, who had a reputation as a hardened warrior who first saw battle as a squire to the Blackfish during the war against the Ninepenny kings. Looking at the man, Jon would not guess him to be old enough to have served in that conflict; he was still tall and strong with clear grey eyes that bellied a martial cunning. He would be glad to have this man at his side on this evening.

The men of Raventree hall were likewise easily convinced of the need to be prepared. Their captain, a knight named Willam Blantree, agreed to speak with the other Riverlands companies to assure they be ready.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When Jon first joined with Robb’s army, he had not known what to do with himself. Camped outside the Twins north castle waiting for Lord Walder to extract his price for letting the army cross, he had taken to sparring with some of the soldiers in the camp, many of whom were rusty from lack of practice. Jon, with his youth and training under Ser Rodrik Cassel and, later, under Ser Alliser Thorne at the Wall, was more than a match for most of the men, including some of the lords like Robett Glover, Lord Galbart’s heir.

It was during his match against Glover that Bryden Tully first made his acquaintance. Well, acquaintance might be too polite a term. The Blackfish, having watched Jon make easy work of the Glover man, challenged him to a match. Jon, in moment of youthful confidence, had accepted. It was only later, while nursing a broken nose and what Jon was sure was a broken wrist but the maester told him was only a deep bruise, did Jon remember the Tully words; “Family, Duty, Honor.”

After their first, inauspicious, meeting, Jon began to see more of the famed knight and see another side of him. Jon, as a talented rider and a “middling” sword, according to Ser Brynden, was assigned to the outriders under the Blackfish’s command.

At first, he was deeply shy around the older man not only because of the thrashing he received at his hand, but for the fact that he was Lady Stark’s uncle. As time wore on and Jon proved his worth, however, the old knight began to grow less short with him.

After Jon crossed swords with the Kingslayer, Ser Brynden came to the tent where Jon was resting to give his regards to Jon and other wounded men. As he was leaving, Jon sprang up and followed him outside.

“Ser, I know it is not my place but I would like to thank you for being kind to me despite my birth. That is to say, I know how you must feel about me being that you are Lady Stark uncle, and I thank you for holding back those feelings, outside of our first meeting. It, it is a kindness I had not thought to receive from your family. Thank you.”

When Jon finished, he noticed the Blackfish was wearing a smug smile. Sure he had overstepped, he was bracing for a scathing retort when Ser Brynden let loose a not-unkind laugh.

“Boy, you think I gave you a beating in the practice yard that day because my niece wishes you never existed? I gave you a beating because you deserved one, you cocky little shit. By my estimation, Robett Glover has not held a sword in anger in five years, yet you smiled after beating him like you just defeated Aemon the Dragonknight?”

Jon was silent, mouth agape.

“Now, I am no Aemon, but there is enough life left in me to put a boy with delusions of grandeur in his proper place. Not as a bastard, mind you, but as a boy who might, one day, be half decent with a blade instead of a wildly swinging fool.”

After that dressing down, Jon and the Blackfish had come to a sort of détente. He would show Jon no favor, out of respect for his niece’s feelings, but was respectful and helpful to Jon in his way. For his part, Jon was thrilled to learn anything from such a man and resolved to absorb everything he had to say. Eventually, Jon showed enough promise in the campaign for Ser Brynden to name him second-in-command of all outriders and scouts. This announcement shocked none so much as Lady Catelyn, who refused to speak with her uncle for some time, and Theon Greyjoy, who was already bitterly disappointed that Robb refused his request to treat with this father, Lord Balon.

In those times when the Blackfish was elsewhere, as was the case now with the old knight commanding Riverrun in Edmure’s absence, Jon took command of those men, all fine fighters and skilled horsemen.

Looking about him now at the thirty or so he was able to rally, the rest presumably still out in the field watching for the enemy, Jon was deeply glad in the Blackfish’s confidence in him. These men worshiped Ser Brynden and his word was, to them, law. Any other company might have balked at a sixteen-year-old bastard being put in command but the Blackfish’s word, along with the cache he built with these men over the campaign, put any complaints to rest.

The men were wearing mail and padded leather under their surcoats, as they usually did on patrol. Those who were highborn enough possessed plate armor as well, but even they did not don it tonight. A man might be forgiven for not discerning that another wore mail under his coat, but plate was another matter. The sound along would give you away from a hundred yards.

So they waited for the Glovers and whoever else Jonnel was able to rally and attempted to appear nonchalant. Jon took the opportunity to survey their probably opposition at the gates, which, to his relief, remained open. There were only twenty or so men on guard but they appeared wary, sending occasional glances in the direction of Jon’s group.

Jon looked to the horizon where the sun had disappeared from view but whose light still shined.

“It will be dark in another quarter hour,” he heard Jonnel’s rough voice say quietly behind him.

“Where are your men?” Jon put to him.

“Out o’ sight for the nonce, don’t want those Frey’s getting’ suspicious now do ye?”

“Aye, good. How many were you able to bring?”

“I brought nearly half o’ hundred,” Jonnel informed him, pointing vaguely to a group of tents as he did so. Jon assumed the men were just out of sight behind them, waiting for Jonnel’s signal.

“When do we storm the gate? I think we can cover the distance before they can seal it if we break into a sprint.” Jon asked, not entirely sure how to proceed. It had occurred to him that, so far, they were still acting on suspicion alone despite him being so sure treachery was in the air. If he was wrong and had misread the signs, Robb and Lady Stark would not take kindly to his barging in to the wedding to say nothing of the twenty Frey guards the planned to knock about.

“Storm the gate? Snow, don’t you know bastards are supposed to be full of low cunning and deceit? Try and storm the gate and fail, what then? I’ll tell you what, you sit outside with your thumb up your arse while whatever foul plans old Lord Walder has come off without a hitch.”

“What’s your plan then, _Snow?_ ” Jon said, emphasizing the bastard surname they shared. “Simply walk up and proclaim ‘We have an urgent message for the King’? How long will it take them to see though that?”

“Aye, that’s not a bad plan. The message should be for Lord Walder, but not bad. And we should go sooner than later, the feast was to start at sundown, which means Lord Edumure and his Frey wife should be married by now.” He turned and saw Dennett Mallister approaching, completing their company, “It’s now or never.”

At Jon’s slight hesitation, the older man added, “Look on the bright side, Lord Snow—your brother will never execute you for killing a few Freys and you already have friends on the Wall.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the Red Wedding

Before approaching the gate, Jon gave some final orders to the still-hidden Glover men, “Stay hidden until you hear me or Ser Dennett call for you, we cannot afford for this to fail.”

Looking over his own outriders, he had an idea. He quickly surveyed their faces and decided that fair-haired Larence would do just fine. “Larence, how feel you about playing a Lannister for a few moments?” Jon asked with a tight grin. At the look of confusion on the other man’s face, Jon elaborated, “If we are challenged by the guard at the gate, I will say that my outriders discovered a Lannister scout a few miles from our camp and that the King and Lord Walder will want to hear what he has to say. Take off your surcoat and helm. Kennoth,” he said to another man, “wrap some rope around his hands and make it look like bindings, and take his sword and keep it with you. When the time comes, Larence will undoubtedly need it.”

After confirming that his men understood, Jon got up from the crouching positon he had been in and started toward the castle.

When he reached the still lowered drawbridge, the Frey guard hailed him, “What is your business here, Snow? My lord has requested that no additional guests be admitted to the castle until after the wedding. Sorry, bastard”

Bristling at the man’s tone, Jon kept his temper and replied, “My outriders have captured a Lannister scout just miles from our location, the King and Lord Walder need to be alerted to the presence of the enemy. This man says a sizable force is coming up the Sea Road from the Crag and has already bypassed Seaguard without being detected.” Seaguard was less that a week’s ride from the Twins, so Jon was pleased to see that the man was suitably alarmed.

“What in the seven hells are those Lannister’s doing?” the guard mumbled to himself, unaware that Jon could hear him. He allowed Jon and his men to pass without further comment.

At those words and their implications, Jon gripped the hilt of his sword and wished to run the man through then and there. He knew he had to wait until all his men were in position before revealing his true purpose, however, so he quenched his anger for the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dennett moving his men into position for the strike. Now that he was in the castle yard, just fifty yards from the great hall, he could hear the raucous cacophony that occurred any time you have more than ten northmen in one place. He could even make out the Greatjon’s distinctive bellow, no doubt questioning someone’s manhood when they passed on a drink.

Yet, despite the festive atmosphere, the Frey men at arms he could see appeared on edge and wary as though they were waiting on something.

Before he gave the order, Jon closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to the Old Gods that he and his forefathers worshiped. _Not that they can hear me here, in this castle. This fortress is a godless place_.

It was true, in a sense. The Twins, having only been built in the last 600 years lacked a godswood in the proper sense and Jon didn’t know where the closest weirwood was.

Opening his eyes, he glanced at his men and decided it was time. While the head sentry was looking elsewhere, Jon pulled a small but heavy ax from his belt and brought its blunt edge down hard on the head of the unsuspecting man. In a moment, Jon heard movement all around him as his men did the same. One Frey was able to dodge a glancing blow from one of his men and draw his sword. He started to shout but Ghost came silently from behind and ended his life with a single, bloody bite to the throat before he was able warn any others to the danger now inside the castle walls.

Only a few bowmen of the walls remained conscious, but before they could raise any alarms Jon’s own archers ended their lives. Jon grimaced at the loss of life, knowing that if he was wrong about the Frey’s his own life, and possibly the lives of all his men, were forfeit.

He could not dwell upon that now, however, as he needed to secure the yard and warn Robb without setting off any additional alarms. He had no idea how many men waited inside the castle. As he turned to call Jonnel and the fifty Glover men, he saw Ghost, muzzle still wet with the blood of the Frey man, dash to the side of the yard and scratch at a heavy wood door that was chained shut.

Concerned there was another guard hiding, Jon drew his sword again and slowly approached. As he got closer, he heard the unmistakable growls of another direwolf from within. Quickly looking around the area, Jon spotted a length of iron that he used to pry the door open. Falling back when the door finally gave, he was greeted by the sight of his brother’s companion, Grey Wind. The wolf seemed more skittish and frantic than Jon had ever seen him, even on the battlefield.

“What’s wrong, boy? You know something isn’t right, don’t you?” Jon said quietly to the wolf. Somehow, Grey Wind, even in his frantic state, seemed to know that silence the word of the hour. Padding alongside his littermate, the wolf followed Jon as climbed to the parapets and called for the Glovers.

After signaling to Jonnel, Jon took the opportunity to survey the camp. From afar, nothing seemed amiss but he took comfort in knowing that loyal men on either end of the camp stood armed and ready to deal with the traitors.  He noticed that more fires than usual were burning at the edge of the Frey and Bolton camps, and hoped it was part of some planned defense.

Turning away, he knew it was time for the final part of this foolishness. After waiting until the Glovers arrived, he, Jonnel Snow, and the two direwolves made their way to the great hall. The other men would remain in the yard under Ser Dennett’s command, ready to rush in at a moment’s notice when needed.

Opening the doors to the vestibule, Jon noted that there were more men-at-arms milling about than necessary and that were all obviously alarmed by the sight of the King’s brother with two huge direwolves in tow. Speaking to the man who Jon reckoned the leader of the group, which numbered about fifteen, he ordered him to open the door.

“Apologies, m’lord, but we have word from Lord Walder and the King that you are not welcome at Lord Tully’s wedding,” he said with obviously fake deference to Jon. He knew about the men of the Crossing looked upon the King’s bastard brother and his monstrous pet, so he was not fooled by the mummery.

“I have a message for our King, and Lord Walder. The King will want to hear it from me and will not be pleased at any delay,” Jon ended with a growl that was meant to sound menacing but he feared was not effective.

The man dropped all presence and shot back “now you listen to me, bastard, I don’t give two shits about you or your fucking Ki—“

His words ended abruptly when Grey Wind closed the distance between it and the man with a single bound and bared his teeth just inches away from the man’s face.

“Now you will let me pass or I will tell Grey Wind here that you are fair game. I expect he is ravenous after being locked in that cage all day.” Jon shoved past the man and pushed the doors to main hall open.

The hall was bawdy, with northmen singing songs and drinking. He saw Smalljon Umber telling a story to a bored looking Dacey Mormont and, at another table, saw Wendel Manderly in deep discussion with Tytos Blackwood. The Greatjon appeared to be literally drinking some nameless Frey under the table. Lucas Blackwood, Owen Norrey, and Donnel Locke were all obviously deep in their cups and, judging by the hand gestures Norrey was making, telling stories of romantic conquests. Daryn Hornwood and Eddard Karstark sit with Eddard’s father, Lord Rickard, and seem in good spirits. He spotted Lady Stark seated next to some plain faced Frey woman, and hoped he would be able to reach Robb before she noticed him.

At the head table, Lord Edmure was talking closely with his new bride, the surprisingly winsome Lady Roslin Frey. “Takes after her mother, I presume” Jon thought to himself. Beside them, seated on a throne carved to resemble his famous castle, Lord Walder Frey looked out on the scene with this usual disgruntled face.

The hall was full of Robb’s celebrating bannermen. Their cheer, it seemed to Jon, did not extend to their hosts. The numerous Frey men in attendance were, in contrast to their companions, clear eyed and sober. Fat Ryman Frey, Lord Walder’s heir since old Ser Stevron passed away after Oxcross, looked nervous and his son Black Walder had a predatory glint in his eye. Fortunately, few noticed his arrival in the hall and Jon was able to locate his brother with speed.

Approaching the King’s table as quickly as he could without running, Jon came up from behind his brother. Robb broke off the conversation he was having with Patrek Mallister when Jon clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Jon, what are you doing here? Is something amiss?” asked Robb with a concerned look. Good, Jon thought, he was not drunk. That would make this easier.

“Aye, your grace,” Jon said, noting Robb’s raised eyebrow. It was rare for Jon to refer to his brother as such when it was just them speaking. “At all costs, do not react to what I will tell you now. You are in great danger, brother. I know not how, but the Freys and Boltons have conspired to betray you at the behest of Tywin Lannister.” Robb opened his mouth to speak, but Jon cut him off, “I beg you, ask me no questions and believe me. Did you not notice that the Freys are armed and wearing mail?”

To Jon’s relief, Robb kept smiling as he finally asked “What would you have me do?” Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw that Hosteen Frey, the fiercest fighter among Lord Walder’s many sons, was watching their conversation closely.

Jon felt someone tap his shoulder and turned to see Jonnel Snow, having followed Jon across the room, nod to Jon’s left. Jon followed his gaze and found himself locking eyes with an irate looking Lady Stark.

Knowing he had little time before she came over to banish him from the hall, Jon rushed these next words.

“The wolves are in the castle and I’ve taken the outer yard. I have seventy armed men waiting on my command under Dennett Mallister.”

“You’ve taken the bloody castle! Without knowing for sure what was happening!” Robb exclaimed in what barely passed for a whisper. To his left, Jon saw Patrek Mallister sit up, alarmed.

Before Jon could respond, Lady Catelyn arrived and cut him off.

“Snow! You could not for a single day remember your place? You must come here and humiliate me in front of my brother and Lord Walder? No Robb, I will have my say, my tongue has been stayed too long by my first my lord husband and now my so-“  

Lady Catelyn’s diatribe was cut short but Walder Frey’s nasal voice. “My guests, my lords, My _King_ ” he said with a sneer in Robb’s direction, “My daughter is married and it has come time for a, he he, bedding. So, Lord Edmure, take my daughter, or granddaughter, I forget, upstairs and make a woman of her. Or maybe a man of yourself, hehe.”

With the singing and commotion of the bedding ceremony, Jon and Robb could not make themselves heard. Lady Catelyn conveyed more with her look than Jon could even hope to say in response.

When the commotion died down finally, Jon, near a state of panic, begged his brother to listen to him.

“Robb, you must leave now, right now!”

Lady Catelyn responded for him, “NO, BASTARD, IT IS YOU WHO MUST LEAVE!”

As Jon opened his mouth to rebut her, he heard the Late Lord Frey say these words.

“It is high time for some music, if my _King_ agrees.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When the first chords of the Rains of Castamere began flowing down from the musicians’ gallery, Jon knew his time was up.

On instinct, he pushed Robb roughly to the floor and forced him under the heavy wooden table just as the first crossbows fired. Before diving under the table himself, Jon grabbed Lady Stark and put his body between her and the gallery. He felt what he thought for a moment was a horse kick his back before he realized it was a crossbow bolt just as he turned to shield his father’s wife. Ignoring he pain, he dove under the table, taking Lady Stark with him. Jon felt his back where he assumed the bolt would be sticking out only to find nothing. His chain mail, not known for its stopping power against bolts fired from short range, had somehow deflected it, thank the gods. From under the table, he saw some Frey put his sword through Ellery Vance’s throat before the man knew what was happening.

“Under the tables! Under the tables!” Jon called to the northerners. Two of Lord Bolton’s men made a break for Jon and Robb but one nearly decapitated and other quickly run though by Jonnel Snow, who then took a bolt to the back of the leg.

“AH SHITE! YOU BLOODY COWARDS!” he screamed. Jon pulled him under the table.

“Protect the King! I need to get to the door and warn the others,” Jon said as slid out from under the table. Robb tried to follow, holding only his dagger as a weapon. “No, Robb, you stay here. If you die this is all for nothing!” Robb looked like he was going to protest then simply nodded. As Jon turned to leave, he saw Robb’s eye flash and the King began to call out a warning. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw the glint of steel and reacted on instinct, raising his sword to defend himself.

Roose Bolton’s blade met Jon’s at the exact moment he was able to raise it. His own stormy grey eyes locked with the Lord of the Dreadfort’s pale, unnerving eyes as the older man began another pass. This time, however, Jon was ready and parried his attacks with an ease only youth and training possess. Seizing the momentum, Jon launched his own attacks and Roose was forced to retreat from the Robb’s table. Unwilling to let up, Jon did not allow his opponent any time to recover before launching another furious volley of strikes which Bolton only just deflected.

Behind Roose, Jon was distracted by Robin Flint, a man he claimed as a friend, being attacked by three armed Freys with only a chair to defend himself with. The mountain clansman took a gruesome wound to his thigh but was able to keep fighting. Dacey Mormont joined the fight and took some of the pressure off the increasingly pale Flint.

In his momentary distraction, Bolton took back the initiative and pressed some strong attacks that Jon was mostly able to parry. Jon took a strike to his side that did not have enough force to break his mail but almost certainly broke a few ribs.

Grimacing through the pain, Jon knew he needed to end this fight. Using a move he had seen the Blackfish employ with deadly efficiency, Jon feinted to his left just enough commitment to get Roose fully committed to the parry, he charged forward to close the remaining distance between himself and Bolton before the man could bring his weapon back towards his body. Jon then jammed the crossguard of his sword up through Roose’s throat and the man slumped to his knees and dropped his weapon. Jon calmly stepped back and, with a single stroke, removed the Leech Lord’s head from his body.

When he looked up, Jon saw that the massive doors to the vestibule were open and his men were streaming into the hall. In the musicians’ gallery, where the crossbowmen were firing from, he saw Dennett Mallister and some of the Glover men cleaving a bloody path. The old knight from Seaguard looked like an avenging demon as he nearly cut one of the Frey bowmen in half and let out a guttural and enraged scream. A few tried to lay down their arms but his men were not in a prisoner taking mood. They were run through without a moment’s loss. After that, the fighting was done quickly.

Towards the high table, Jon saw Ghost rip the throat out of a Ryman Frey just as he was going to deliver a killing blow to a wounded Dacey Mormont. Smalljon Umber was still standing but Jon knew not for how long in midst of a circle of dead Freys and Bolton men. In his hand was what Jon had to assume was his only weapon—a broken-off leg of one of feasting tables. Men joked that Jon and Robb with their wolves looked like their House’s sigil come to life, but at that moment Smalljon looked like nothing so much as the giant from the Umber crest. The huge man from Last Hearth had at least two bolts in him, one through his left shoulder and one in the meat of his arm. He would need a maester’s help as soon as possible if he wished to live through the night.

Robin Flint lay dead on the ground, his head cleaved near in two by an ax, and Owen Norrey looked like he would follow his friend into the grave before the day was over. Daryn Hornwood and Eddard Karstark stood guarding the prone figure of Lord Rickard. Jon could see that the older man was still breathing but could not tell how badly wounded he was.

Theon Greyjoy, who Jon did not notice when he came into the hall, looked to be unharmed and furious. Beside him stood a dazed Patrek Mallister who was attempting to stem the flow of blood from a nasty gash to his forhead.

Grey Wind was busy removing the arm of some other Frey who strayed too close to Robb, who, despite Jon’s pleas, had taken the sword from some dead Frey and joined the fight. Luckily, he seemed to be unharmed. His sword was bloody, so apparently Robb was able to send some Freys to their gods. Lady Catelyn, still sitting under the table, seemed in shock at the events.  

The brothers made eye contact across the room and he gave Jon a nod of appreciation.

Beyond him, one of Jon’s men was taking Lord Walder himself into custody with more force than was probably needed for a man who had seen ninety namedays pass. Jon was in no mood to chastise the man, however. A number of other Freys, young and old, were lined up along the wall.

Jon turned and found ten of his men making their way towards him, occasionally stopping to put a wounded Frey or Bolton out of their misery. When they reached him, Jon gave the order for them to follow him up to the living quarters of the castle, where he hoped those lords who took part in the bedding ceremony still lived.

Upon reaching the uppermost floor, they came across a surprising scene. Wendel Manderly and Greatjon Umber, both bleeding profusely from a multitude of cuts and wounds, laughing over the corpses of six dead Freys, including Hosteen.  Manderly had never seemed an impressive figure to Jon or anyone else in the army, for that matter. His father might be ‘Lord too Fat to Sit a Horse’ but the son was not far off. Standing there, laughing with Umber and looking like he gave as good as he got, Jon was forced to reevaluate the man.

“Where is Lord Edmure?” Jon asked when he was able to process the slaughter.

“Killing that Frey wife of his, with any luck” Umber announced grimly. Edmure chose that moment to emerge from the bedchamber.

“Jon Snow? What has happened? Is my sister well?”

“Aye, my lord, she lives. I cannot say the same of many of these Freys, however.”

“I hope you did not fancy your little wife, Edmure. It seems as though it might be a short marriage” said Greatjon, barely holding in his laughter. Before Jon had been in battle, he might have thought Lord Umber’s behavior strange and insulting. Having seen now how men react to the rush of a fight such as this one, he knew it was involuntary.  Some men became grim as the Stranger while others, like Umber and, apparently Manderly, feel a sort of giddiness that takes some time to wear off.

“Lord Umber, your son lives—“

“Aye, of course he does. A fucking Frey of the Crossing taking down a man such as my son? Don’t insult me boy.”

“He is seriously wounded, lord, and in need of attention.” Jon finished, lamely.

His words seemed to snap Umber out of his state and he began to run down the stairs.

Jon followed him down, realizing that there we still over three-thousand enemies outside the castle walls. Passing close to a narrow window that looked south, Jon stopped to see if he could make any signs of battle. Nothing. No singing, no shouting, nothing. In the flames of the fires still burning at the edges of the Bolton and Frey camps, he saw no movement.

_They must be waiting for word from the castle_. Jon saw immediately what he needed to do and broke into a run to find Robb. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part three of the Red Wedding.

 Taking the last three steps in a single jump, Jon landed hard on the stone floor of Lord Walder’s hall.

 _Robb’s hall now, I suppose_ , he thought with a grim smile.

Jon looked around the hall for his brother and found him giving orders to those lords who remained able to stand and fight. As he made his way over the group, he noticed a man with a short chain around his neck dressing the wounds Smalljon took during the fight. He assumed the man was the maester of the castle, though he looked young for the position. The bolts were already removed from the large man’s body and, from the way the heir to Last Hearth was drinking, the wounds had been cauterized as well. Dacey Mormont lay on a feasting table  to his side, seemingly asleep. Jon tensed until he was able to discern her chest moving up and down with shallow breaths.

Jonnel Snow still lay on the ground in obvious pain from the bolt he took to the leg. From the way he was favoring it, Jon was sure the bone was broken by the impact.

To Jon’s surprise, Lady Stark had shaken herself from the shock Jon last saw her in before he went upstairs and was helping the maester apply bandages and attempting to sooth men who were beyond saving.

He couldn’t see the other lord he looked for, Rickard Karstark, until a still-bloody Lord Greatjon Umber moved aside to reveal the old man seated in a chair holding a bandage to his head. Karstark looked dazed and stared at the far wall without expression.

After the Battle of the Whispering Wood, when Jon and Ghost were able to stop the Kingslayer’s rampage before it claimed the life of Eddard Karstark, Lord Karstark had looked upon Jon with special favor. While Torrhen’s death had been a hard blow, his gratitude to Jon for saving his remaining son was touching. Harrion, Lord Rickard’s eldest, had been a prisoner of the Iron Throne since the diversionary Battle of the Green Fork and no word of him had been heard for some time now. Had he lost another son, Jon was not sure the old man could endure it.

At the end of the hall farthest from the wounded were a group of Frey prisoners, including a babbling Lord Walder. Jon recognized no others.

As he walked closer to Robb’s impromptu council, Jon could hear his brother giving quick, decisive commands to his lords.

“Lord Umber, are you well enough to take on a few more Freys?” he asked with a grin, knowing how the man would answer.

“If these _cunts_ thing a few nicks and cuts will stop me from tearing down their _fine_ castle and ending this cursed line here and now, aye, I mean to shock them to their very bones.”

“Good man. According to Walder Frey here—no not that one, one of the other half a hundred Walders in the castle—there are no more than forty men guarding the north castle and the Water Tower. Apparently they were expecting those bowmen to make quick work of us and sent most of their fighting men out with Walder Rivers to the camp before the feast. Put your men in Frey livery and secure me that castle. I think I know where you can find some spare surcoats, as long as those men don’t mind a little blood,” Robb finished, looking out to the vestibule where threescore Frey men-at-arms lay dead from Ser Dennett Mallister’s vicious surprise attack half an hour earlier.

Lord Umber nodded and quickly left the hall, repeating Robb’s orders to the mix of Glover men and Jon’s outriders he was taking with him as he did so.

If Jon were being honest with himself, he would admit that he was keenly disappointed in Robb’s dumfounded reaction to his pleas to retreat from the hall before that wretched tune began playing and the killing commenced. His brother, otherworldly through the whole campaign, outwitting Tywin Lannister at every turn and turning what seemed to many lords as a hopeless war into something more, was unable to hear what he was telling him. He knew the Freys were unenthusiastic allies and yet he had never even considered, apparently, that they might betray him.

The Robb who stood before him now was a different man than the one who sat in this hall not an hour before. He was the Young Wolf, as the common soldiers called him, not the stunned boy Jon begged to listen. Jon didn’t know exactly why, as he never saw his father at a loss for words, but he was strongly reminded of Lord Eddard when he looked at Robb at that moment.

_Father always had two faces, the Lord’s face and the one he reserved for his lady wife and children._

Robb as he stood now, giving orders to men twice his age and with thrice the experience in warcraft, had his father’s face. Not physically, for Robb favored his mother in looks, but in authority. Jon was surprised it did not look ridiculous, like a boy of nine swinging his father’s sword, but natural.

Breaking himself off from his reverie, Jon joined the council as Robb was forming a plan to alert the loyal men in the camp of the danger posed by their erstwhile allies without setting off a battle.

“Your Grace, those men loyal to you are already prepared for battle. I gave orders to the captains of each company led by true men to arm and armor their soldiers before I took the keep,” Jon announced quietly. “Those levies closest to the oathbreakers are ready to repel any attack.”

The lords gathered around King Robb slowly turned towards Jon and feral smiles broke out on more than a few scarred faces. Robb looked at Jon with genuine relief—his next move became much simpler now.

“Well, it appears we all owe my brother even more than we previously thought, hard as it is to fathom,” Robb announced, breaking into the first truly happy smile Jon had seen in months. “Very well, let’s get on with it then.”

Even with the threat of an ambush rendered moot, the problem of numbers still remained. Robb, desiring a quick trip to and from the Twins, had travelled from Riverrun with only 5,000 men. It was far more than was strictly necessary to attend a wedding, but Robb was determined he would not make the mistake of the Jaime Lannister and get caught with only a token force away from his main army. Further, troubling reports of Ironborn ships had been reported along the west coast of the Riverlands and the North. They had made no belligerent moves against the kingdom yet, but Robb took no chances and intended to send a portion north with Robett Glover when he turn back west.

At his moment, Jon was glad for his caution. Of those 5,000, he could only trust 3,500. 1,500 men belonged to Lord Bolton or one of the petty lords who paid fealty to the Dreadfort.

On top of that, there were at least 4,000 men camped outside the walls who bore the sigils of the High Lord of the Crossing and its vassal counties. Most of those Frey men rode with Robb just weeks earlier before following their offended lords back to the Twins when news of Robb’s wedding to the Westerling girl broke.

3,500 against 5,500. Robb had faced longer odds at Oxcross and emerged victorious.

As Jon listened to Robb’s plan as he laid it out, however, it became clear that his brother had no intention of fighting a battle on this night unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Jon, go with Theon, Eddard, and Daryn and begin organizing those men we can depend on in the camp to make quickly for the south keep at my signal. If my strategy fails, I want all those men back within the walls before a battle breaks out. Five thousand men stand no chance of breaching the walls of this castle with our troops as a garrison.”

Jon and Theon turned to leave with Karstark and Hornwood following close behind before he reached the door, Robb called out to him, “Brothers, remember: wait for my signal!” Jon and Theon both nodded. The king then turned to Tytos Blackwood and Robett Glover.

“My lords, I have another task for you.”

The door slammed shut and Jon heard no more.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dead quiet in the camp despite the proximity of thousands of men.

As soundlessly as they could, Jon and his companions called the captains together and gave instructions for the maneuver. Eddard Karstark, the eldest of the four, had the most experience with moving troops about in an orderly fashion and thus the others felt it was acceptable that he take the lead in drawing up the specifics for the captains. Theon began to work with a soldier from the Wolfswood to put together a passable sentry close to the boundaries of the Frey and Bolton camp.  Jon saw that the former hostage had his doubts about the success of this gambit.

While his father’s namesake explained the plan to the men, Jon climbed atop a wagon attempting to get a better look at the Freys. He could see many figures huddled around fires but could not make out any individuals or hear anything beyond an indecipherable murmur.

After a few minutes he gave up and turned to look at the progress being made with the troops. Already, the beginnings of two parallel lines of men-at-arms five ranks deep were taking shape. From what he could see, the formation was simple but effective. The men furthest away from the castle would break towards the castle first, if the order came, and the entire line would fold in upon itself. Those closer to the castle would cover the movements of those further down the line. Most importantly, it would look to the Freys and Bolts like men were spread evenly through the camp instead of clumped up near the bridge.

Jon dismounted from the wagon but missed his step. Falling to the ground with a muffled crash, Jon cursed softly to himself. Ghost cocked his head and stared at his master.

“I know, you’ve no trouble staying bloody quiet,” he whispered. “Braggart.”

Picking himself up, he saw a few dozen dark figures crossing the drawbridge towards the camp. The only silhouette he could easily recognize belonged to a direwolf.

Walking over to meet them, Robb motioned to Jon that he should follow Robett Glover as the man headed towards the Bolton camp carrying a bundle in his arms. On the other side of the group, Jon spotted the unmistakable shine reflecting off the raven-feather coat belonging to Lord Blackwood of Raventree Hall. Slung across the lord’s shoulders was a large sack. He kept it with him as he walked toward the Frey camp.

After a few minutes of walking, they reached the edge of the camp. Staying back from the bright areas around the fires that still roared all across the boundary, Glover took a knee next to one of Theon’s sentries and spoke softly.

“Stay low, boys, and wait for the signal.”

Just as Jon was about to ask what the signal was, the loudest wolf’s howl he had ever heard ripped through the air. Without wasting a single breath, Robett Glover strode with a purpose into the fire light still holding the bundle.

“Oathbreakers! Kinslayers! The King in the North lives and your lord lays DEAD!” he roared at the still unseen Bolton men. Jon had followed after him and stood by his side.

“King Robb has decreed that you men shall just one chance for mercy! Throw down your weapons, deliver your lords and captains to me, and I swear by the Old Gods and the new, you shall wake from this night with you heads still attached to your bodies!

“If you chose to raise arms against your king, I vow upon the bones my ancestors that I shall not rest until every last one of you has been torn limb from limb and your heads left out to feed the carrion.”

With a dramatic flourish, Robett reached his hand into the sack and emerged holding the severed head of Roose Bolton up for all his men to see. Jon grimaced at his handiwork.

“THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO TRAITORS IN THE NORTH,” he screamed and heaved the gruesome object into the dark line of men.

For a moment there was no sound and Jon could hear Lord Blackwood finish what he assumed was a similar warning on the other side of camp. Blackwood’s speech ended with a gasp from the Frey soldiers, however, as he heard the unmistakable sound of a sword slicing through the air.

It was not until hours later did he learn that the sound marked the end of Lord Walder Frey. His head was removed from his body in sight of his soldiers and twenty of his sons and grandsons.

The true soldiers of the north chose that moment to make themselves known to the assembled company with an earsplitting yell that Grey Wind joined in with.

Jon’s attention was brought back to the Bolton camp when Robett drew his sword. Following suit, Jon scanned the darkness beyond the fire for any threat. He heard some shouting that was quickly cut off and the sounds of a struggle. Just as he was realizing that he and the heir to Deepwood Motte made a fine target for any archer who happened to be in the “audience”, the figure of Alyn Overton, master of the Lonely Hills and captain to the Bolton levies, was thrust violently into the light as though propelled from behind.

When Robett ordered him to surrender his arms and order his men to stand down, Overton simply stared for a few moments before falling forward into the mud. The ax, invisible from the front, was lodged deep in the man’s skull.

Taking this surrender for what is clearly was, Jon let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. From the sounds of the other side of camp the Frey camp was not submitting as peacefully. 

Jon and Ghost arrived as the Frey camp just as Wendel Manderly was pulling his sword out of a still-breathing Walder Rivers. Staggered throughout the field were the other members of Old Walder’s brood. Instead of surrendering at the death of their patriarch and the information that Walda Frey, his heiress after the deaths of Ryman and Edwyn, was being held in the castle by men loyal to the king, they ordered their men to charge and kill the northerners.

Theon would say in the days after the victory that the Freys didn’t realize their men had not followed until they were cursing them from the seven hells. As Jon would come to know better than any, the smallfolk held little love for Lord Walder and his household.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next hours were some of the longest in Jon’s entire life. Robb kept his oath to the common soldiers formerly belonging to Houses Frey and Bolton and those who laid down their arms were treated with as much kindness as the exhausted northerners could muster.

The remaining leadership Robb had taken into custody and questioned separately by different lords. The king was insistent that they discover exactly who knew what about Lord Frey’s plan and what their roles were to be had it come off.

Jon was tasked with interrogating the highest ranking Dreadfort man left alive, Morgan Ryswell. He was a distant cousin to Lord Rodrik of the Rills and held no land or title, just a place in Lord Bolton’s household guard.

He was a nervous man and desperate to save his own life.

“When the killing started, was to be your role?” Jon began. He knew it was a loaded question but he was more interested in the man’s reaction than his ultimate answer.

“The… the killing, lord? I know of no such plan, only that Master Overton bade us be ready for foes in the night. We assumed there had been a Lannister scouting party spotted, but we knew better than to ask.”

Jon scoffed and continued, “Lannister scouts? Why then did you set no skirmishers or sentries if you were so concerned with trouble in the night?”

“I did not think, my lord, I only followed those commands given me by my captain.”

“So lieutenants are not required to take initiative in Lord Bolton’s forces? That strikes me as odd considering all that I have seen of your company during the campaign.”

“Yes—I mean no, lord, we were not to take part in the planning this night, but it’s true that we have on other days.”

“I see. So, these Lannister scouts. You reckoned they would be coming from the center of the camp?” Ryswell looked confused.

“Before your surrender, your line faced inward, facing the Twins and the other northmen,” Jon explained. “If it was Lannister scouts that kept you up at night, why did you think they would be coming from that direction? And before you say that it was simply a case of you following orders, know that I am aware of how Roose Bolton commanded his forces.”

The Lord of the Dreadfort was not a man to suffer failure but he rewarded intelligence amongst his captains and officers. During the Green Fork, Jon heard, one of the Karstark infantry companies was bogged down with heavy fighting and unable to retreat with the rest of the force. One Bolton lieutenant led an independent sortie to strike quickly at the westermen’s flank and allow the Karhold men to retire from the field with minimal losses. The man was rewarded with a promotion by his lord.

The answer Jon was half listening to from Morgan Ryswell was not what he wanted to hear but it mattered little. The man clearly knew what was planned and now Robb would decide what to do with him. He would likely be given the choice to die or join the Watch, along with many others today whose crimes were not proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Others would receive no choice.

Jon spoke to many others in the Bolton force that day and, when the last men were dealt with, joined Robb in the castle.

He found his brother seated in what Jon assumed had once been Lord Walder’s solar. Robb ate from a bowl of stew and trencher of fresh bread in front of him and, mouth full, motioned for Jon to join him.

Robb swallowed and spoke as Jon broke off some of the bread and dipped it in the stew.

“I’ve just heard from Lord Blackwood that the vast majority of the Frey soldiers had no details on the… unpleasantness Lord Walder had planned. Those that did will be given the choice between the Wall and death. I expect most will join the Watch, so they will be sent north with Robett. What news of the Boltons?”

“Much the same, the officers knew something but most common soldiers did not. They saw something was afoot, aye, but I don’t think many put it together. What will you do with the soldiers? I cannot think you could trust them in battle now, even with new leadership.”

“I don’t have a choice, I’m afraid. I cannot afford to turn away five thousand fighting men right now.”

“There’s been news of Kings Landing, then?” Jon asked.

His brother nodded and pointed to a letter sitting on the table.

“Lord Walder received that five days before our arrival. The young maester was kind enough to point it out while when I searched Walder’s correspondence for clues to his treachery.”

Jon read and exclaimed “Stannis has been defeated on the Blackwater! That answers the question of where Lord Tywin’s army has been, I suppose.”

“Aye, and the Tyrell host as well. They took Stannis from behind and no one knows if he still lives. His forces were scattered.”

If the Tyrells had made common cause with the Lannisters then their enemies commanded an army more than twice the size of Robb’s host. Optimistically, Jon reckoned that his brother could call on about 30,000 men, many of whom still held the castles and mines they had taken during the invasion of the Westerlands.

“I understand the necessity, but how can you trust the Frey and Bolton men after what they did?”

“Truthfully I do not trust them. I will split their companies and divvy them up amongst the over riverlords, so their ability to cause trouble will be curtailed. I also expect their new lord to be more sympathetic to my cause than Walder Frey, and much more trustworthy.”

“Robb, Walda Frey is a girl, not yet ten years old. I do not think Lord Walder’s former bannermen will respect her opinions much less let them influence their minds.”

“No Frey will ever again hold lands in the Kingdom of the North and Riverlands. They and all their bannermen who supported them have been dispossessed and will be replaced with men loyal to me, men I can trust. The young Freys and their mothers will be banished from the kingdom, never to return upon pain of death. The men, even those who took no part in the killing, will be sent to the Watch. The lives of those who took up arms against me are forfeit.” Robb announced, standing up.

Jon stood as well and said, “Eddard Karstark or perhaps one of the Greatjon’s younger sons might be fine choices, your grace. You should reward those families who have been most loyal to you.” Robb nodded.

“I agree, they should be rewarded and so they shall. But not with the High Lordship of the Crossing.”

Jon looked at his brother in confusion.

“I mean to make you a lord, Jon, and legitimize you as father should have done long ago.  The Crossing is too valuable to be left vacant or in the care of a young girl. You and your children shall be gatekeepers to the north and hold dominion over all the land’s previously swearing fealty to the Freys, apart from the Cape of Eagles. The Mallisters have an ancient claim on that land.”

Jon stared dumbly at his brother for a few moments. “I… surely there are more deserving men? A bastard from the north rising to a position such as this will anger your lords, will it not?”

Robb smiled. “My most important lords are sitting in the great hall of your new castle and not dead or in chains because of your actions. No, I do not anticipate there being much disagreement with my choice.”

“You will swear fealty to me, not Lord Tully. To make up for that, you will pay Riverrun a third of all the revenues you garner from tolls over the next five years. I’m also leaving lord Walder’s treasury intact for you. Unless you choose to have thirty sons, I suspect the income will be more than adequate.”

Robb started to say more when there was a knock on the door. A guardsman from Winterfell entered.

“Beg pardon your grace, my lord, but there is a man who claims you will want to see him. Rode up to the gates a few minutes ago, claims to be Joffrey’s Hound.”

“The Hound? That’s a strange envoy for Lord Tywin to send,” Robb mused. “Very well, bring him in. And tell Quent, Pate, and Farlen to come in as well,” he finished, naming three of his fiercest guards.

Jon raised an eyebrow at his brother.

“Piss off. If it truly is the Hound, you saw that man sparring with men when King Robert came to Winterfell just as I did. I’m taking no chances.”

After a few minutes of waiting, the guardsman returned with a huge man that was unmistakably Sandor Clegane and a young boy.

Jon stood and the boy’s eyes went wide. Before Robb could say a word, the boy sprinted to Jon and launched himself at the newly-minted Lord of the Crossing. The guards unsheathed their swords and yelled for him to stop.

Upon reaching Jon, however, the boy clung to his middle and started to cry. Looking down, Jon realized that while her hair was short, this was no boy.

“Arya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to incorporate more POVs now that this chunk is over. Look for a Robb, Catelyn, a short Arya, maybe Tyrion, Theon, and Asha before I wrap up. All of that is subject to change.
> 
> I will also go into more detail about what has occurred in the war and up north, obviously. I've played around with the sequence of events around the Blackwater slightly to make some stuff fit, but most of my other changes will be addressed directly in the story.
> 
> Finally, I don't have an editor and just proofread myself. If (when) you spot missing words and grammatical errors, let me know in the comments and I will fix them. 
> 
> Thanks for reading


	4. Robb

“Arya?”

Robb sat stunned for just a moment before rising to join his brother and younger sister. Arya broke from Jon at his approach and pulled him into a desperate embrace. He brushed the dark, knotted hair from her eyes and could not believe that she was back amongst her family after so many months.

“Find my mother,” Robb commanded a guard.

 _How long has it been exactly? A year and a half?_ Robb could not recall what day it was when he last laid eyes on Arya, but he remembered the scene in Winterfell. King Robert’s party was leaving and taking father and his two sisters with him. His mother and Sansa waved to them from the wheelhouse while Arya sat sullenly staring at Winterfell. She had not wanted to leave her home and her brothers for court at King’s Landing.

Despite the seriousness Robb affected, he was excited at the time. He would miss his siblings and father dearly, but he was also a boy of four and ten who desperately wanted to prove himself as a man. Being the Stark in Winterfell, even under Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik’s watchful eyes, was the opportunity he had waited for.

_What a foolish boy. I knew nothing of the world beyond my dream to be hailed as the greatest Stark who ever sat the carved weirwood throne of the old Kings of Winter._

Robb leaned to kiss Arya on the forehead and recoiled immediately.

“Gods, Arya, you smell like something Grey Wind would roll in!” His sister let out a teary laugh and punched him in the ribs. “Hey, don’t you know its bad luck to punch a king?”

Wiping her eyes, she said, “Oh yeah? What about stupid, big-headed brothers?”

Robb laughed for a moment before looking up to see the Hound sneering down on them with unconcealed disgust. Damn, he forgot all about the scarred man.

Releasing Arya from the hug, Robb felt his face fall back into an impassive mask.

“Clegane, you have my gratitude for returning my sister to her family. What does _Tywin Lannister_ hope to gain in return for his… generosity?”

Robb spat out the lord of Casterly Rock’s name with disgust. During the night, while most of his men were dealing with the troops belonging to Walder Frey and Roose Bolton, Robb had taken Wendel Manderly and looked for the Lord of the Crossing’s private correspondence. With the help of the castle’s maester, a young man seemingly unperturbed by the dramatic fall of his lord, Robb and Manderly found what they sought.

It did not take long for the full picture of the betrayal to become clear: Roose Bolton and Walder Frey, through his son “Lame” Lothar, were in talks with Twyin Lannister for weeks leading up to the wedding. In his letters, Lord Tywin makes veiled reference to a coming “change in the winds,” with regards to Lannister strength, a strength that had been dulled by Robb’s campaign in the Riverlands and Westerlands. Robb assumed this change was the Tyrell alliance that had broken Stannis at the Blackwater, but he could not be totally certain.

In other letters, they found that Roose intended to bleed the loyal northern forces under his control with costly campaigns at Duskendale and elsewhere before turning to the Twins, but Robb’s order that he make for Riverrun immediately with the northern infantry under his command put a stop to those plans. It was Jon’s report that his outriders had spotted the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, and his men near the Ruby Ford that encouraged Robb to recall Bolton, he remembered.

_I feared that the main Lannister force could not be far away._

“Tywin fucking Lannister and his hopes can rot in the seven hells for all I care. He never had this one, only the little bird,” Sandor growled. At Robbs confusion he continued, “The pretty one, Sansa.”

“What do you mean he never had Arya? And if not Tywin Lannister, whom do you serve?”

“I serve no man. Not Tywin Lannister or his vicious little cunt of a grandson. Left King’s Landing and found this little wolf with a group of bandits near Harrenhal and took her. I came here for gold, Stark, and lots of it. You would not fail to reward your sister’s _savior_ , would you? It would not be _honorable_ for me to go away empty handed.”

Before Robb could respond, the door flew open and his mother raced into the room.

“Arya! Arya, oh my dear girl!” She cried, scooping her daughter into a tight embrace. Robb had not seen his mother so happy since Winterfell and smiled to see it.

“Clegane,” Robb said, turning to the Hound, “I shall see you rewarded for your service. Two-thousand gold dragons seems more than fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

That was far more than most lords would fetch at ransom. Clegane’s eyes lit and he nodded slowly.

“Further, if you are truly no longer Joffrey’s sworn sword, we could make use of a man with your… reputation. I have need of every sword arm I can find.”

Clegane let out a bark of laughter.

“I did not leave King’s Landing just to swear myself into the service of another boy-king, Stark. And I’ve no wish to find myself on the wrong end of this war, I promise you that. No, I’ll take my bloody gold far away from this cursed land and leave you cunts to your war.”

To his side, Jon’s eyes opened wide in anger at the man’s impudence. Robb held up a hand to his brother and suppressed any reply.

“Very well, Hound, you will be paid.” Turning to his brother, “Jon, we rode here without the paymaster’s wagon. I trust you will not object to paying this man out from the funds available in the Twins?”

His mother looked at Robb with a questioning glance but said nothing. Jon, for his part, looked confused for a moment then, obviously remembering his new position, nodded to Robb.

“Of course.”

Ignoring his mother’s unspoken question for the moment, Robb told the Hound that the hospitality of the Twins was open to him should he desire rest or resupply.

“Jon, see to Clegane’s reward. The maester, whose name escapes me, will show you to the vault.”

“At once, your grace. Clegane, if you would follow me I will show you to the kitchens while I count out your coin.” Jon said and led the huge man away. Before he left the room, Jon turned to Arya and said “I will seek you out soon, sister. You owe me a story, I should think,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. Robb’s guards, apparently not trusting the Hound’s honorable intentions, followed as well.

Robb remained in the solar with Arya and his mother. From the look in Lady Catelyn’s eye, Robb did not think she would let go of his sister for a least a few days.

“Robb, have you made a decision regarding the future this castle?” His mother asked, raising an eyebrow as she spoke. Her voice was calm but Robb was not deceived.

“Mother, I do not wish to discuss this right now, nor in front of Arya.” Robb had no desire to quarrel with his mother and this line of questioning, if left unchecked, would lead to a row.

“No, I do not imagine you would. Robb, I fear you’ve made a hasty decision.”

“Mother-”

“No, Robb, do not ‘mother’ me at this moment. You might be a king but you are still my son and in need of counsel whether you wish for it or not.”

Arya looked at her brother and mother with a wrinkled brow.

“I know you think I am unreasonable when it comes to Jon Snow, and perhaps I have been harsh with him in the past. However, I saw what he did last night and I know he is deserving of my thanks. He saved you, me, my brother and all those lords who remained loyal to you. Gods Robb, the boy shielded me from a crossbow bold using his body! His actions kept us alive and allowed your sister to return to us. He is a brave and honorable man, like his fa—,” She stopped for a moment and collected herself, “like his father.”

Robb was stunned. He had never heard his mother praise Jon or even speak about him directly. And to hear her compare him favorably to father, he could not believe his ears.

Lady Catelyn took a breath and continued, “I know his value, Robb, believe me that I do. And he should be rewarded somehow. But not with this castle. It is too valuable a prize and the river lords, including my brother, will not love you for placing your bastard brother here.”

“Mother, what are you talking about? Is Jon a lord now?” Arya interjected. The thought obviously pleased her.

 _Gods, Arya, please don’t ask to live here with him. I don’t think mother could abide that, not now,_ Robb prayed.

Catelyn ignored her daughter and gave Robb a serious but kind look.

“The Riverlands are not the North, Robb, and a bastard would not be respected by his bannermen. Lord Walder’s two most powerful lords, Manfred Charlton and Raimond Erenford, are men as prickly as their former liege lord. I know my brother has taken a liking to him, though he tries to conceal it in my presence, but others will be harder to convince. It would be better to reward a loyal lord with the lands, give them to a second son or even your trueborn brothers. There would be more honor in that.”

“I know your concerns are sincere, but this was not a hasty decision,” Robb countered, ignoring the slight on his honor. “It was made quickly, yes, because I needed to have a lord for these lands even if it will be in name only until the end of the war. I spoke with the closest high lords, those men who could take the greatest offence.

“Tytos Blackwood said Jon would make a fine lord and even offered to betroth him to his youngest daughter! She is younger than Arya, however, so I politely declined on his behalf. Even so, the man was thrilled that another follower of the old ways would soon join him in the Riverlands.

“Patrek Mallister said his father, Lord Jason, would have no strong objection once Patrek and Ser Dennett told him of Jon’s actions last night. His only real concern was with a centuries old land dispute the Mallsters had with the Freys over the Cape of Eagles. Lord Jason has long fumed over the land. Once I offered to carve it off from the Crossing, Patrek agreed in his father’s name with confidence.

“Patrek also mentioned a sister only a few years younger than Jon, Minisa, but I shall leave the picking of a bride up to Jon. I have no doubt that he will choose wisely.

_Wiser than I, hopefully._

_“_ I also spoke to uncle Edmure this morning, before I even raised the issue with Jon. In return for a sizable portion of the toll revenue for the next few peacetime years, if we ever end this war, Edmure agreed that Jon will be a direct vassal of the crown.

 “As for his bannermen, Manfred Charlton is married to a Frey and he and Raimond Erenford both had sons and cousins within the leadership of Lord Frey’s forces. Both have been dispossessed and their lands will be given to the second sons of loyal lords, I have not decided who specifically yet. I thought mayhaps one of the Greatjon’s younger sons. Regardless, whomever _I_ choose _will_ support Jon’s place or they will not be chosen.”

Robb took a breath and forced himself to remain placid. It would not do to take out his frustration with the disloyalty of his deceased lords on his mother, especially with Arya present. He continued in a softer tone.

“If we intend for this kingdom to last longer than a few years, the lords of the most strategically situated fortresses must be absolutely loyal. We can depend on House Reed, but the crannogmen cannot stop a large army alone. Bleed them and make them pay for every foot, yes, but if Tywin Lannister wants to force a march up the Neck with a large enough army, he will get through.

“The Twins command the only crossing of the Green Fork for five-hundred miles in either direction and controls the route that any army from the Westerlands or Reach must take in the event of an invasion. And there is no man in the Kingdom of the North and Riverlands who is truer that Jon, no man in whose hands I would rather place my life and the lives of those I love. No man who regards his honor as seriously.”

He stopped and let that information sink in for a moment before speaking again.

“Mother, I’ve offered to legitimize Jon. He will become Jon Stark should he agree, and be placed behind Bran, Rickon and Arya in my line of succession. Sansa as well, once we recover her. And we will recover her; Brienne of Tarth will not fail you in that task. She would die before admitting failure.

“Jon will not inherit Winterfell or my crown before any of your children, you have my word.”

Robb tensed and waited for the explosion that was surely to follow his last pronouncement.

To his surprise, his mother’s mouth was turned in a slight grimace but she appeared calm.

“Do not look so shocked, Robb. I have suspected that you will legitimize him since he first joined you, just outside this very castle. As a king, there is nothing I or anyone can do to stop you. Do not take that as my support, however. I only hope that you are truly being as sensible as you claim.

“I leave you with this, my son. Your father was the most honorable man I ever knew and he never legitimized your brother. He even encouraged him going to the Wall, of all places. King Robert loved Ned and would have agreed to legalization in a heartbeat if only your father had asked him. So why didn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Robb responded.

“Nor I,” Catelyn said quietly, shaking her head softly. “Come Arya, you are in dire need of a hearty meal and a hot bath. You can see your brothers again shortly.”

The door closed and Robb was left alone in the room. He would not admit it to her, but his mother’s words gave him pause. He would not rethink his decision regarding Jon, but the question still nagged at him nonetheless.

_King Robert loved Ned and would have agreed to legalization in a heartbeat if only your father had asked him_

She was right, of course. It was something Robb had thought long about in the past. Legitimized children were routinely placed behind trueborn sons even if they were older, so there was precedent for what Robb had devised for Jon. Children born on the wrong side of the bed were legitimized with regularity, particularly if both parents were highborn.

Robb had no idea if Jon’s mother was a lady or even if she still lived. It was difficult to imagine Eddard Stark breaking any vows but especially not with a camp follower, as most servants assumed Jon’s mother was. Robb remembered a time when the servants had gossiped about another name, Ashara Dayne, but did not have more knowledge about the woman other than that she hailed from Dorne and his father met her at Harrenhal.

It struck him that he still didn’t even know if Jon would accept legitimization or, if he did, would he take Stark or one of the traditional permutations. His brother was more pragmatic that he, but was defensive about his origins even with Robb. He might even refuse the honor out of some misguided attempt to protect Lady Catelyn’s honor.

Honor had been at the forefront of Robb’s mind since before Jon joined the army, but the concept remained abstract. It was not until Robb was faced with a hard choice that he first truly understood the price of honor. It was a choice that was thankfully taken from him, but the thought stuck with him all the same.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robb remembered that day, which began with Ser Rodrik waking him well before dawn.

“Robb, a rider just approached the camp from the north. You will want to see him.” The old knight said to him quietly after Robb had shaken the cobwebs from his mind. Ser Rodrik had arrived only two days before from the Vale with his mother and great uncle, the Blackfish. His mother’s capture of Tyrion Lannister and subsequent loss of the Imp vexed him greatly, but he was glad of her presence.

The Blackfish was a daunting figure with a long reputation for heroism stretching back to the Ninepenny Kings, but Robb quickly warmed to the uncle he had never before met. The man could be gruff, yes, but did not lack for humor or warmth. He quickly took it upon himself to train up the northern outriders.

Robb was happy for Ser Rodrik’s company as well, and for his protection of Lady Catelyn during her journey. The old knight had taught Robb to hold a sword and he trusted him completely.

After dressing in a woolen tunic, breeches and a pair of leather riding boots, Robb followed Ser Rodrik from the tent. In the camp, he took a moment to regard the northern castle of Lord Walder’s bridge. Few lights were ablaze in the castle and Robb reckoned that it was still two hours until daybreak.

His mother would be heading into the castle to treat with her father’s most truculent bannerman and secure the army’s passage, partly due to her father’s position as Lord Walder’s liege and partly because Robb did not trust the man to take him captive and sell him to the Lannisters.

Matching his pace with Cassel’s, Robb noticed the man was stone-faced and grim.

“This rider, who is he?” he asked.

“Your brother, Robb, Jon Snow.”

“Jon? That’s not possible. He joined the Watch and Lord Commander Mormont would never give him leave to come this far south. There must be a mistake.”

They reached their destination, a tent near the northern edge of the camp. Ser Rodrik opened the flap and Robb walked in to find that there was no mistake; his brother had left the Wall.

Robb took one look at his brother and knew he would be of no use to anyone for the next few hours. His hair and clothes were filthy and there were heavy bags under his eyes. When their eyes met, Robb could tell that that he could barely stand and, accordingly, Jon lost consciousness right there.

“Move him to my tent and put him in a cot. Do it quietly, I do not want his presence here to become common knowledge. If he wakes, give him food and water then come find me.” Robb ordered.

He spent the next few hours in a state of near panic.

_If he deserted, I will have no choice. Gods, Jon, why would you put me in this situation? How could you leave the Wall?_

His relentless pacing eventually wore on his mother, in whose tent he waited for word on Jon.

“Robb, if you do not sit down this instant I will make you! You are spinning in circles.” His mother said, not unkindly. She was preparing to treat with Lord Frey had been awake for some time.

“Your brother’s fate is in the hands of the Seven now, my son, and your worrying will not change a thing. For your sake, I will pray that there is a reasonable explanation for his presence here and the… worst does not come to pass.”

After an interminable wait, Hallis Mollen came to tell Robb that Jon was up. Walking quickly to his tent, Robb found his brother looking much more human. He had obviously been given something to eat and most of the grime was off his face.

He looked up from his hands when Robb entered.

“Robb, I came as soon as I heard that father had been taken captive. Is there any news? I have not stopped for more than a few hours a night since leaving Castle Black and damn near killed my horse during these past three weeks.

“Does father still live? Are Sansa and Arya safe?” Jon asked in a rush.

“Calm, brother, there has been news from King’s landing. Father, Sansa, and Arya are being held by Joffrey and the Lannisters, as you know. His entire household, including Jory Cassel, have been put to the sword. Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, is burning and raping his way across my grandfather’s lands and a Lannister army marches from the Golden Tooth. It scattered a small force of Riverlords led by my uncle Edmure and he is being held captive by the Kingslayer.”

Jon nodded, “I’ve come to join with you and get our family back. We cannot leave them at the mercy of those people.”

“Jon, you know you want justice, to defend the family… but the Watch, Jon”

Jon did not seem to understand

“Men will question… I question your presence here. I cannot think you would abandon your vows but I can think of no other explanation. Honor demands… you know the penalty, Jon, do not make me say it.”

Instead of responding, Jon stood and for a terrible moment Robb thought he would run. He rushed over to the heap of clothes on the floor of the tent and rummaged through them for a few moments until he found what he was looking for.

“Here,” he said handing him a letter with a broken seal on it. “That will explain everything.”

Looking closer, Robb could see the seal depicted a bear rampant. Regardless, he read on:

 

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_Let it be known that Jon Snow, natural son of Lord Eddard Stark and bearer of this letter, left the Night’s Watch in good standing before saying his vows. As he came to the Watch on his own accord and not as punishment for any crime, he was free to leave without being declared outlaw with my blessing. As a free man of noble birth, he is at liberty to travel these Seven Kingdoms without molestation._

_Lord Commander Jeor Mormont_

_997 th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch_

 

 

As Robb finished the letter, he let out a sigh of relief.

“I couldn’t say the vows, Robb, not with father and our sisters held prisoner. I just couldn’t abandon you all.”

“The seal was already broken?”

Jon smiled and said, “Aye, I ran into a spot of trouble with some Norrey men just south of the Gift. Thankfully one of their wives could read or they might have strung me up then and there.”

The tension banished, the two brothers embraced and proceeded to catch up. After some time, Robb decided that he must address his men at this development. These were men of the north and it was well known that Jon joined with the Watch. He needed to nip any rumors in the bud before they got out of hand, so he asked his lords to join him.

Most of them looked at Jon with a mixture of disapproval and suspicion as Robb spoke. Theon smirked through Robb’s entire explanation, as though he were lying to protect his brother. Jon seemed to wilt under their collective gaze, unused to being the object of open curiosity.

“The letter from Lord Commander Mormont settles the issue. Jon left the watch in good standing and was not bound by any vow. My father will not look kindly on any sort of ill-conceived actions against my brother.” Robb finished.

As the other lords took their leave, seemingly mollified by Mormont’s letter, Theon came up and clapped a hand on to Jon’s shoulder.

“Cheer up, Snow. Your brother was never going to take your head. If being a dour bastard was a crime Robb would be marching south with only me and Roose Bolton for company”

Robb saw a look of confusion pass over Jon’s face, a look he was sure he shared.

“Roose Bolton?” Jon asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye, haven’t you heard? The man has a quick wit and sings better than any bard. Ask him to give a rendition of ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’ when you get the chance. It’s to die for.” Theon said with a smirk.

To Theon and Robb’s surprise, Jon was overcome by laughter. Robb could not remember a time when Jon took anything other than offense from Theon’s japes, much less humor.

Theon recovered before Robb and exclaimed, “Gods, Snow, you had to go to the edge of the world to find your sense of humor?”

_He will be disappointed when Jon gets a full night’s sleep. He is clearly worn out and I doubt he will even remember this tomorrow._

In that, Robb was correct. The Jon Snow who emerged from his tent the next day and for all the days following was the brother he remembered from Winterfell. Not humorless, but certainly not gay.

Robb took no pleasure in Theon’s jape. He had come too close to being forced to take the head of his beloved brother for the sake of honor and his sword hand shook for days at the thought of it.

He looked out the window of Lord Walder’s solar and saw that it was nearly midday. There was still much to be done before moving south.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robb spent the remainder of that day sending dozens of ravens to his scattered commanders and dealing with the how the Frey and Bolton levies would be dispersed amongst his army. He could not leave them clustered under any one lord; that was to invite troubles. Yet he also wanted to maintain some sense of group identity for the men, especially for those from the Crossing. He did not want Jon to inherit a rabble no better than sellswords at the end of the war.

Sellswords. The word alone made Robb frown. After speaking with more of the officers from the Dreadfort he got a more complete picture of Vargo Hoat and his Bloody Mummers and was ashamed that he allowed Roose Bolton to take them into his service. The “Brave Companions,” as they called themselves, still remained in Harrenhal for the nonce but would soon be dealt with.

Robb had not yet decided what to do with the Dreadfort and the lands sworn to it, but that decision could wait for some time. For now, he needed to secure the fortress and put Bolton’s bastard to the sword. Ramsay Snow was to play a role in the treachery, Robb deduced from the letters, and needed to be put down.

The bloodline that had been a thorn in the side of his forefathers for thousands of years would finally be extinguished. One of the ravens Robb sent directed Ser Rodrik to raise a force from Winterfell, Castle Cerwyn, King’s Grove, and Dawnforest and lay siege to the Bolton fortress.

Wendel Manderly offered to write to his father Lord Wyman and have some White Harbor men join in the effort as well but Robb politely refused. Ser Rodrik could raise more than enough men to keep the Dreadfort under siege if necessary. Robb did not think the people of the Dreadfort desired a long siege, not with their lord dead without legitimate heirs. Besides, the Manderly’s had long coveted the Sheepshead Hills to the south of the Dreadfort and did not want to begin the land grab just yet.

After a trying day, Robb finally felt that he could retire for the evening.

_How I wish Jeyne were waiting within the bedchamber tonight._

Robb stopped as though struck by a pain.

_Gods, what am I going to do about her family?_

Amongst the letters he read today was a reference by Roose Bolton, writing to Lame Lothar Frey, that “the Westerling boy” was not to be harmed on Lord Tywin’s order. His mother, Lady Sybil Spicer, had pledged to be “helpful” to their cause once the deed was done.

Robb saw how Raynald Westerling, Jeyne’s brother and his standard bearer, fought during the ambush at the wedding and had no doubts about the boy’s loyalty. He killed at least one Frey grandson and another man wearing the sigil of Lord Erenford without hesitation.  No, Raynald was beyond reproach as was his sister.

Their mother was another matter.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robb thought back to his mother and Jon’s reaction at Riverrun when he first informed them of his marriage. Robb had sent his brother ahead to secure the fords south of Riverrun while he recovered from his wounds, so he was not present when he broke his vow to Lord Walder by bedding and wedding Jeyne.

To have his mother and Jon in agreement against him was a situation he had never thought to be in. To say that they were shocked and disappointed was an understatement.

Thinking back on that moment now, Robb wondered at the dynamic between the two. They looked more ill at ease in each other’s presence than Robb could recall from the rest of the war. He had assumed that his mother had harsh words for Jon when he arrived at her family’s castle ahead of Robb, but he denied that was the case when pressed later.

Whatever their disagreement had been before presented with this news, it was immediately forgotten.

“You must be joking, Robb. You are promised to one of Lord Walder’s daughters and he is not a man who will forget this slight.” His mother said with stern disapproval. “Annul the marriage, say you were under the influence of milk of the poppy, anything. You cannot lose those Walder’s support or those four-thousand men-at-arms.”

“I will not dishonor her further, mother, and I will not annul this marriage.” Robb turned to Jon, whose mouth was set in a thin line. “Surely, brother, you understand. I cannot throw her out, not after I’ve robbed her of her virtue.”

“Your mother is right, Robb, you must rethink this decision. We have already lost the Freys and who knows how the other lords will see this. A king who does not keep his word…”

“I laid with her, Jon, I cannot abandon her now. My child could grow within her even now and you would have me make it a bastard? You, of all people?” Robb could not believe his brother, he thought he would support him in this. This girl’s virtue, to say nothing of his honor, would be irreparably marred if he ordered the marriage dissolved.

Jon’s mouth opened to speak but Lady Catelyn cut him off.

“She knew what she was doing,” she said. “She knew you had more honor than sense. My gods, Robb, you have jeopardized this entire war for a girl whose family can bring no wealth and few men to your cause. And, to top it off, you have offended one of the wealthiest and powerful houses in your new kingdom, not to mention your Northern lords who find the idea of their _Queen_ being a Westerner insulting. You need to-“

“ENOUGH,” Robb bellowed. He collected himself and continued coldly, “I thank you for your counsel but the decision is not yours. My lords have named me King in the North by acclamation and will not abandon me for an honorable decision.

“Regardless of your opinions, you WILL treat Jeyne and her family with every courtesy befitting a wife of Winterfell and as a queen. Leave me.”

 _They were right, I am a fool_. Jeyne was a lovely girl and he thought he loved her, but it was still a mistake. A mistake made for the sake of honor but a mistake nonetheless.

_I hope she can forgive for what I must do._

Robb let himself fall into the bed and willed his mind to let sleep take him.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awoke before light, not tired yet not refreshed. He would finally leave the Twins at first light tomorrow and continue with the war effort. Before he could leave, however, he needed to hold a counsel of war and inform his loyal lords of the new direction the war would take.

Robb broke his fast with his family, including Jon. Arya still seemed as though she couldn’t believe she was here and no longer on the road.

She told Robb the story of her escape from King’s Landing with Yoren and of Syrio Forel’s role. She told him of the road and the Mountain’s men and Harrenhal, though on how she came to leave that place she was vague. She told him of the Brotherhood without Banners and the Hound’s trial by combat with Lord Beric. Finally, she told him of how when she and Clegane first spied the Twins, they thought a battle was raging and bedded down for the night, uncertain of the outcome.

It was the Brotherhood Robb has the most questions about.

“So Lord Beric lives? We had heard he was killed by the Mountain at the Mummer’s Ford a year ago?”

Arya shuffled in her seat before answering.

“He was. Killed, I mean. Thoros said he brought him back. Actually he said the ‘Lord of Light’ brought him back, but I didn’t know what he meant.”

“Arya, that’s absurd,” their mother chimed in.

“I know it is! But I know what I saw. The Hound killed him too, but Thoros brought him back again.”

Robb didn’t know what to make of this information, but he knew that he would need to get in contact with this outlaw band. If they had been harassing Lannister forces like Arya said, he would need their expertise in the coming months. He resolved to have a group of men travel to this hollow hill Arya spoke of to attempt a parlay.

_Perhaps if I offered them pardons for their banditry they would join me. My father set them on their original mission, after all…_

Mostly, though, Robb just enjoyed the last private meal he would have with his family for some time. Mother and Arya were going to accompany Robett Glover back north to Winterfell. Bran and Rickon needed her and Arya needed to go home finally. His mother argued initially but Robb could tell her heart was not in it. She missed her youngest children and it weighed on her.

Robb also informed her of his talk with her younger brother, Lord Edmure, about his wife. Before the meeting, Robb assumed the marriage to Roslin Frey was void considering the villainous actions of her father and brothers and her knowledge of the plans. Edmure, however, disagreed.

“She knew, yes, but she had no choice! She was forced by her father to go along with it, that’s why she was in tears damn near the whole wedding! You must believe me, Robb, she would never do anything like that, I know her.”

Try as he might, Robb could not move him. His mother frowned deeply as this news.

“Men are such fools,” she declared. “For longer than even my father was alive, Lord Walder wanted nothing more than a grandchild as Lord Paramount of the Riverrlands and he never got it. Now, after his treachery and lies finally caught up to him, he shall get his wish.”

“If the thought did not burn me so, it would almost be amusing,” she finished with a shake of her head.

He would also have to do without Jon for the nonce. At his insistence, Jon would remain at the Twins for a few weeks or however long it took to establish his command over the household. He asked that Jorrel Snow, the Glover man who accompanied him during the fight in the hall, be allowed to stay as well. He needed a castellan he could trust, he explained, and with the broken leg the man suffered during the fight he would not be able to ride with the army in any case. Robb agreed and would inform Lord Glover.

After the meal, when they were alone, Jon resisted every attempt by Robb to speak of legitimization. He simply said he needed time to think, it was not something he had considered for a very long time. Robb was sympathetic but had to press on.

“Jon, most of the lords who will be affected by this decision have already been informed that you will be legitimized. It was the only way they could possibly accept it,” Robb explained. “Lord Jon Snow cannot hold one of the three or four most powerful and important castles in the Riverlands, it is not possible.”

“Lord Jon Stark or Lord Jon Greystark or any other name you choose, however, can keep this castle. Hell, you can call yourself Lord Jon ‘Arsestark’ and it would still be better than keeping Snow.”

His brother let out a sigh and finally said, “Let it be Stark then. It’s what I have always wanted but it feels wrong. Father should have been the one to do it, not you.”

_No other man in all the Seven Kingdoms could possible look glummer at being made lord of a powerful fortress._

“But I choose my own wife,” Jon announced, as if expecting a fight on it.

“Of course, I would never dream of taking that liberty for you. I have no doubt that you will chose the most rational and prudent wife in all the land, my oh-so-serious brother. My only advice would be to look to your neighbors when bride-hunting,” Robb told him with a grin.

“Good. Yes. Very well then,” Jon stuttered.

“Now that it’s settled, it’s time to address the lords. I know you are unsure about my plans for the war, Jon, but I need your support in there. You have become a respected man and the others listen to your words, particularly Karstark. That man follows me out of duty, not love, and I will need him with me on this.”

“Of course you have my support, I would never question you in front of the others. But we have defeated large forces before, I don’t know that this change is needed.”

“Larger forces, aye, but through trickery and surprise against men who underestimated me. We will not have the same opportunity against an army with Tywin Lannister or Randyll Tarley at its head, I assure you that.”

“Perhaps it is so. I just wish you would rethink this, Robb, it’s not what father would have done. I am not sure that it is honorable.”

 _Fuck honor, I want to end this war_. _Honor brought me and those I love to the brink of ruin and death. Honor took my father’s head and left Sansa in the hands of the Lannisters._

“I know Jon, but you must trust me in this.”

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Robb entered the hall some time later, he looked at the faces staring back at him. He was glad to see that even some who had been wounded just two days before in the wedding were able to join him, including the Smalljon and Dacey Mormont.

Nodding to those two and others he knew were nursing wounds, Robb walked to the head of the table

“My lords, I thank you all for your attendance at this counsel. Please, be seated.” Robb waited for those in attendance to settle themselves before continuing. He remained standing with Jon at his side.

“First, I would like to extend my thanks to all of you who sit here with me today. Without your valor in the face of such unspeakable treachery, I would not stand before you today. I also grieve for the good men we lost.

“The men who planned this travesty are dead, all except one. Tywin Lannister, along with his bastard grandson, still lives and is coming for us with an army more than twice our strength. Most of you know of the Battle of the Blackwater by now, but for those who have not heard, Stannis has been defeated. We are the only obstacle keeping Tywin and the boy-king from total control of Westeros and he means to crush us.

“The Lannisters have made common cause with the Tyrells and the entire force of the Reach is at their command. Even now they might be moving into the Riverlands to force a final battle and use their numbers to destroy us once and for all.”

The Greatjon roared, “Aye, and we shall send those children of summer back to their mothers’ TEATS!”

“I admire your enthusiasm, Lord Umber, but we will not give them the battle they so desperately want.”

Robb’s words sparked confusion on the faces of his bannermen.

“All yesterday and this morning I have sent ravens to our troops spread from here to the outskirts of Lannisport. Those in the Riverlands will convene south of Riverrun before spreading out once again.

“Each of you here will take up to a thousand soldiers; horse, foot, and bow, and harass any army that comes within your territory. Hit their supply wagons, burn their camps, kill their outriders and scouts. Most importantly, you will cut their supply lines. Hit them hard and then melt away. We will become crannogmen, my lords, masters of the ambush and hit and run. When Tywin or Randyll Tarley turn to strike at you, let strike hit nothing but air. You shall become the mist.

“Those coming from the west will take every single thing of value, everything that is not nailed down, and send it to Riverrun or this castle. We will have need of their coin when we rebuild the Riverlands after our victory. They will then make for the forests south of the Stony Sept and ensure that no single wagon of food or supplies comes makes it out of the Reach without paying dearly.

“We will starve and bloody this army and make them beg to go home. We will kill any patrol or foraging party foolish enough to leave their camps and leave their corpses where they will be found by their comrades. You will be vicious and bloodthirsty. We will become the very stuff of their nightmares.”

When Robb finished, he could tell that some were uneasy with the plan. On the other hand some, like Lord Umber and Donnel Flint looked eager. Tytos Blackwood stood.

“Your Grace, once we refuse to give battle the Lannisters and Tyrells will simply sit down and put our castles under siege. Would you have us give up our homes?”

“No, Lord Blackwood, I would ask that of no man present. You will garrison your castles well enough to withstand direct assault and provision them well. With their supply lines cut and foraging parties dead, the Lannister forces will not be able to feed themselves if the siege lasts for more than a few weeks. That is the key to this strategy.”

Robb went back and forth with other lords with concerns but eventually he ended debate.

_Not all are convinced, but most seem content if not eager._

“Finally, as those of you I’ve spoken with over the last day know, I have named by brother Jon as the Lord of the Crossing. I have also legitimized him as Lord Jon Stark. After having Freys hold this crossing for six-hundred years, I can think of no better man to restore honor and hospitality to this castle than my brother, a man to whom I owe my life.”

Rickard Karstark was the first off his feet, raising a tankard in toast to Lord Jon Stark, Lord of the Crossing.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After much drinking and a simple but raucous feast, Robb retired to his chamber in the castle. He had barely had time to unlace his boots when someone knocked on the door.

“Enter,” he called. The door opened to admit the young maester.

“Sorry to disturb you, your grace, but two ravens just arrived. You will want to see these immediately,” he said, handing Robb two letters.

Robb quickly read both and told the maester, “Wake my mother, ask her to join me. And pull Theon away from whatever serving girl he is begging, I need to see him now.”

The man nodded and left without another word.

_Dark wings, dark words, as the saying goes._

The first letter he read was from Seaguard, telling him that Balon Greyjoy was dead. The other was from Winterfell.

Bran was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Robb abandoning open battle in the face of overwhelming numerical superiority. I think it fits with his growth as a strategist. I also expect that the Blackfish will be especially valuable in the coming campaign.
> 
> As some of you might notice, I've spent about 20,000 words writing about just two-ish days. Time is going to start passing with much greater speed now that this chunk is done. I just really wanted to take the opportunity to build some character before really getting into the plot too much.
> 
> As I said last time, I have no editor so let me know if there are any big, glowing errors.
> 
> Let me know what you think.


	5. Catelyn

Harsh weather slowed their pace to a crawl.

Though they left the Twins over a week earlier, the crannogman scouts they acquired when they entered the Neck were insistent that Moat Cailin was still a good week’s journey from where Lady Catelyn Stark, her daughter Arya, and forty loyal men of Winterfell stood now. Ser Helman Tallhart, Master of Torrhen’s Square, was the nominal leader of the company but knew better than to question Lady Catelyn’s commands.

The downpour, which began the day after leaving the Twins, had not let up and the Neck was completely flooded. The mossy trees that oppressed the kingsroad on every side hung low with the soggy weight of their branches. The road itself was the only dry Lady Catelyn could see in any direction.

She recalled her first journey through the Neck with the infant Robb. Robert’s rebellion still raged in the south and her father, fearing that Riverrun could be put under siege, sent her and her son north to Winterfell.

Though she had been betrothed to Brandon for many years, she had never actually been to the North. The Neck, with its twisted, sunken trees, venomous serpents, and fierce lion-lizards frightened her. Only the steadfast and comforting presence of Ser Walton Cassel, Martyn and Rodrik’s old father, calmed her nerves. He had come south to Riverrun with a score of men to fetch her to her new home.

 _What a frightened little flower he must have found me,_ Catelyn thought with a smile.

It was Ser Walton who told her of how the kingsroad was the only dry path through the neck, but even that was not the whole truth. It was actually a manmade embankment with a road built atop.

The embankment itself predated Aegon the Conqueror’s King’s Road.  It was built after King Rickard Stark defeated the final King of the Marsh and married his daughter, combining their kingdoms. Before being annexed, the crannogmen were happy to have their lands be an impenetrable and dangerous swamp only they knew to navigate. It was their greatest protection. The addition of the Neck formed the boundaries of the modern North.

_Until Robb remade them._

Arya took to the landscape like a local, surprising her mother little. At any given moment on the road, Arya could be found with the crannog scouts, learning how to properly spear a fish or catch a snake without getting bitten.

Where once she might have put a stop to it, Catelyn no longer had the inclination. All her previous attempts to make a lady out of her youngest daughter had failed and she resigned herself to simply seeing to it that Arya was happy and safe. She would need to marry one day, but she was only ten years old and that conversation could wait for at least five years.

Her subtle hints towards the topic had been firmly rebuffed.

“I won’t marry and if you make me I’ll run to the Wall!”

There was little she could do with that, not now at least. Where once she envisioned grand matches for her daughters in the south, now she thought only of sons of the north. They, she envisioned, could handle a daughter of Winterfell with her fair share of “Wolf’s Blood,” as Ned called it.

_Besides, her tune on marriage will change once she becomes a woman._

Of greater surprise than her continued lack of interest in ladylike pursuits was the sword. She found it while looking for a clean shirt amongst Arya’s things. The girl could not go more than half an hour without sullying whatever piece of fabric she wore.

It was unlike any blade Catelyn had ever seen but it was razor sharp. It also bore the Mikken’s maker’s mark on the hilt. Arya already told Catelyn of her “dancing lessons” of course, and Syrio Forel’s sacrifice that facilitated her escape, but she never knew of the live steel her daughter carried. She assumed the lessons in swordplay were Ned’s inventive way to teach Arya grace or some such thing.

“You’re father gave this sword?” Catelyn asked, hardly believing that her husband would give such a weapon to their nine-year-old daughter.

Arya looked at her feet without answering.

“Arya?”

“It wasn’t father. Jon gave it to me before he left for the Wall. It’s called Needle.”

Jon Snow, it always came back to him. To say that her feelings regarding the boy were conflicted was an understatement.

After he arrived at the Twins half-dead, having ridden the length of the North in just three weeks, Catelyn promised Robb she would be fair to her husband’s bastard son. He had every right to be there, Robb told her, Ned was his father and Sansa and Arya his sisters as much as Robb’s. He wanted to see them safe and was willing to leave the Night’s Watch, a calling he had spoken of for years, to ensure that justice was done.

She kept her word, to a point. She was civil towards Jon Snow in those times they were in each other’s presence and he kept his distance. This arrangement worked well for both parties until he arrived at Riverrun ahead of Robb.

Edmure was still gone, marching back to Riverrun from his foolhardy defense of the fords against Tywin Lannister.  Jon’s face fell at the news of her brother’s victory, she remembered, and she was confused at the time. It was not until Robb’s return with Jeyne Westerling and her family in tow that his folly was made known to her that it made sense.

_The only initiative my brother shows in the entire war, and it was all for nothing. Worse, even. It jeopardized Robb’s entire strategy and led to the Lannister victory at the Blackwater._

Catelyn could recognize now that she was not in her right frame of mind. She was so far from all her children, in a castle that only reminded her of the mother she lost too soon and the father she lost too recently, and she needed to do something. In truth, she could not say why she decided to speak to the Kingslayer again and did not know why the man answered her truthfully, but she did and he did.

He admitted all his sins against her family, from attacking Ned in King’s Landing and killing poor Jory Cassell to throwing Bran from the First Keep. He reveled in telling her that he fathered all his sister’s children.

Interestingly, he did deny sending the assassin to kill Bran, saying “if I wanted your Bran dead I would have slain him myself.” The dagger, the one Petyr claimed belonged to Tyrion, he knew nothing about. He did echo the Imp on the matter, saying that “Tyrion always backs me in the lists, every time.” Dismayed that even Petyr would deceive her, she pressed on.

He disgusted her, but she kept talking to him, kept pressing him for reasons. Why did he do all those things?

In the end, it didn’t matter, she thought, but her daughters’ lives do. She thought of the havoc Robb reaped on the Westerlands, and cruelty of Cersei Lannister. In her heart, she knew that Sansa and Arya were in deeper danger now than ever before. Holding Jaime Lannister captive might stay Cersei’s hand for now, but what was to stop her hellish little son?

His uncle’s captivity had not stopped him from taking her dear Ned’s head on the steps of the Great Sept, what could possibly stop him from killing her daughters?

Resolved, still staring at the unshaven wreck that was the Kingslayer, Catelyn called to Brienne to give her a sword. When she turned to look at the woman, she did not find her. Only Jon Snow.

“Lady Stark,” he began in his mimic of Ned’s voice. “I apologize for interrupting you but I cannot allow you kill Ser Jaime, as much as I would like to see him pay for his crimes. He is not your prisoner, my lady.”

“This does not concern you, Snow, leave me.”

“Killing him will not bring Sansa and Arya back, Lady Stark. Please think of them before you do anything rash. They are at the mercy of our enemies,” Jon said with a pained expression. He clearly felt uncomfortable confronting her in this way, and embarrassed.

Catelyn let out a laugh that turned into a sob.

“I am not going to kill him, fool. I was going to release him. Trade him for my daughters as Robb should have done months ago!”

Jon was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “If you do that, you will drive a wedge between Robb and his lords. The Kingslayer’s crimes extend far beyond us, my lady, and the others will not love you for denying them that justice. To free him is an offence punished by death, a sentence Robb could never carry out. You and I both know that.”

“Please, Lady Stark, reconsider this course.”

With those words, a dam broke within Catelyn. She let a torrent of sixteen years’ worth of repressed anger and resentment at Jon Snow flow from her like an uncontrolled river. She raged at him, his mother whomever she may be, his father, for what seemed like hours.

All through the diatribe, Jon stood with hands behind his back and his head lowered slightly but not bowed, letter her rage wash over him. But he did not make to leave.

Brienne, who entered the gaol at the screaming, was frozen in shock.

When she said all that she ached to say, her fury was extinguished suddenly and she felt tired, more tired than she could ever remember being. All thoughts of freeing the Jaime Lannister banished, she let Brienne help her upstairs.

That was the last time she spoke directly to Jon until the events of the Edmure’s wedding, when she was so hateful to the boy while he proceeded to save her life.

“Mother? You’re not mad at Jon for giving me Needle are you? It was my fault, I begged him for a gift, something to remember him by when he left for the Wall.”

Coming back the present, Catelyn looked at Arya and said, “No, sweetling, I am not mad at your brother. I daresay you found the blade useful during your travels. I owe him my gratitude, it would seem.”

The next day, while the wheelhouse lay stuck in mud yet again, Catelyn debated with Ser Helman about whether to simply leave the damned thing behind. She was all for anything that would hasten their journey and bring her home to Rickon sooner. From Winterfell, she knew that she would be able to find wherever Bran had run off to.

“Aye, ‘twould be a fair sight easier to navigate this mud without the damned thing but I would not recommend you and young Princess Arya riding. Not with this weather. A man could catch his death in rain like this, if the snakes let him live long enough.”

“Be that as it may, lest the rain stops soon we may not arrive in Winterfell for six moons unless we abandon this unwieldy cart,” Catelyn said with a shake of her head.

“Oh, come now. Even if the rains keep coming, we will be well clear of the Neck in another week despite having to stop every few hours to dig the blasted thing out. Besides, it’s nearly dark now. My men will free it while we set up camp and be ready to move at first light.”

“Very well, Ser Helman,” she finished with a nod. He was a good man but not particularly bright or resourceful.

Night comes fast in the Neck and before they had even gotten a fire lit it was dark. The swamp changes at night. The creatures who make such a racket during the day retire and their job is taken by frogs and gods know what else. The sounds of the night are more sinister than the day, and the trees seem to creep closer.

The northerners in the party had all manner of superstition about nights in the Neck, but their crannog guides always paid them no mind. Those short, wiry men possess eyes so green that even without fire they would be seen from across camp. They carry nets and tridents in place of sword and shield and fear no man or creature in their wet homeland.

Tonight, however, they were ill at ease. One of Ser Helman’s men, Medger, worked his soggy flint in an attempt to catch wet kindling. It seemed a fruitless effort to Catelyn’s eyes, but he persistently wore on until Beren stopped him suddenly. Catelyn noticed at that moment that the swamp was dead quiet.

“Something moves out there,” the crannogman said quietly, removing his hand from Medger’s flint. “Stay quiet until we say.”

Catelyn looked around to see the whole party stopped and stooped low. At her side, Arya looked around in confusion at the sudden change in attitude. Without another word, Beren and the other guide whistled a complicated call to each other and waded into the dark water on the western side of the causeway.

Just as she stood, intending to find Ser Helman and figure out what the matter was, she saw a faint light in the direction the scouts went. It looked to be a few hundred yards away, but the trees and high water play tricks with the light. She bent low again and studied the flickering light for some time. It was getting closer.  

After a few minutes Helman Tallhart crawled over to her location.

“Lady Stark, get yourself and your daughter to the other side of the embankment. Stay hidden until we know what’s coming,” he whispered. To another man, he said “Go up the road for half a mile, see if you can get a look at it. Stay low!”

She followed the man’s order and, with Arya as bundled up as she could get her in just a few moments, settled down on the eastern slope of the road.

“Mother, what was the light out there?” Arya asked.

“It’s probably nothing, sweetling, just more crannogmen. But we need to stay quiet until we are sure.”

And quiet they stayed for hours. Sleep eventually took Arya but Catelyn could not rest. She kept both eyes on the light at crept steadily closer. She could finally make out some details. The light was suspended fifteen feet off the surface of the water and reflected its lights towards her company.

_It’s a lantern, a ships lantern._

As she looked for Ser Helman, anyone, to tell this revelation to, the crannogman guide reappeared.

“Lady Stark, you must leave. Go back south along the road, it’s not safe here.”

Tallhart came over once again at this and said, “No, it’s too late for that. Besides, we don’t know if there are more of them farther south. We have to wait and hope they don’t spot us.”

“Who are ‘they’?” She asked with urgency.

“Ironborn, Lady Stark. Three longships of reavers.”

“Ironborn? Why would they be here in the Neck? There is nothing of value here.”

Tallhart grimaced, “Making for Moat Cailin perhaps. They are too far south, though, so I would wager that these storms have gotten them turned around. Once they see the kingsroad they should turn north.”

Catelyn looked around and her eyes settled on the still-stuck wheelhouse. She pointed to it and asked, “and if they see that instead?”

“Aye,” the man from Torrhen’s Square said slowly, “that might pique their interest. Nothing to do about it now besides muddying it up, try and make it look like a stone or some such. It’s too dark to make an organized retreat and they are too close to light any torches. We have to wait here and hope.”

_Reavers in the North? Has Theon betrayed Robb after all he has done for him? No, Theon could barely have left Seaguard by now, much less made it back to Pyke. Was this his father’s work? Or one of his damned uncles?_

The men settled in on either side of Catelyn and Arya, who awoke at the commotion. Shushing her questions without answering, Catelyn kept her eyes on the lights. They were close enough now that she could just make out their dark hulls slowly gliding through the trees. As they crept ever closer she could begin to make out men on the bows with long poles.

_They’re taking soundings. With the flooding they lost track of the creeks and inlets and now they are rowing blind._

Navigating the Neck with a seagoing vessel is difficult in the best of times. The ground changes so quickly that even a map made six moons before is utterly useless. Rivers change course, sand bars shift, and trees fall and form dams with such regularity that Catelyn often thought the fact that road remained relatively unchanged for so many years was nothing short of a miracle. The ironborn ships were cautious in these unknown waters.

Staring at the ships, Catelyn was abruptly unnerved by a change in the swamp. She could not put her finger on it for some time before it hit her. There were birds singing again where just a few minutes before all life was deadly silent. The more she listened, the more certain she was that the calls were coming from the trees around the ironborn ships.

_Dawn cannot be less than three hours from now, why do they sing? Whatever it is, the ironborn do not seem to notice._

Suddenly a bird call sounded to Catelyn’s immediate right. She turned to see the animal but found only Beren and the other crannogman. She began to ask what in the world they were doing when she noticed activity breaking out all around the ships.

It began with a weak flame appearing under the prow of the first ship. Faster than she ever saw fire spread, the hulls were engulfed in flame. Screaming and shouting to put out the flames, buckets were thrown into the dark water.

Before the men could haul them up again, arrows flew from every direction, killing those who did not take cover quickly enough and pinning the rest on their burning ships. The arrows kept pouring into the ships until the flames consumed each ship entirely.

_They are coming from the trees._

As flames rose, some ironborn dove off their doomed vessels and into the water. Each swam for a few moments toward the trees from whence the arrows came before abruptly submerging in the dark water as though pulled from below.

From the terrible screams emanating from the ships, more stayed than swam once they saw what befell their comrades.

Those ironborn that remained on the ships rallied and tried to quench the flames while others attempted to maneuver the ships around and take flight. But the trees and stumps that rose in every direction stymied their actions and foiled their escape. They were trapped and taking merciless fire from an unseen enemy.

 _They cannot last much longer, not with the flames rising._  

After some time, the screaming stopped and the flames rose even further. Catelyn, though she was at least a hundred paces away from the conflagration, felt the heat on her face.

After a few minutes of nothing but the roar of the fire in their ears, Catelyn saw men converge on their positon from all sides. Some came down from trees so close to the road that she could not imagine how her party failed to notice them. They did not greet them, however, and stayed back from her party in a non-threatening manner.

She nearly called out to them before she noticed the boat.

Silhouetted against the backdrop of the vessels burning to the water line, a small boat appeared. It rowed closer until grounding on the western edge of the kingsroad causeway. Off it stepped a small, slight man with greying brown hair and a neat, closely cropped beard. He wore queer scaled armor and a cloak that appeared to be made of the skin of a lion-lizard.

Catelyn recognized him immediately, though they had met only once, many years before. She rose to greet him.

“Lady Stark,” the man said in a deep, strongly accented voice, “it has been too long.”

“It has, Lord Howland.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Their journey to Greywater Watch was significantly easier than their trek on the kingsroad. With the Neck so thoroughly flooded the small, flat-bottomed boats favored by the crannogmen were able to skim to the seat of House Reed almost as the crow flies.

The surprise encounter with Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover and Jason Mallister had been brief. There was barely enough time for Catelyn to inform the three lords of the actions of Lord Walder before they took some horses and went south on the road at a hard gallop. Their mission to liaise with the crannogmen was complete and they were eager to get back to the fight.

Catelyn and Arya travelled together with Ser Helman and two of his men while the rest followed in a series of similar crafts. Catelyn at first insisted that she and Lord Reed travel on the same boat but the quiet man was insistent.

“We have much to discuss, yes, but Greywater is only a day’s journey from here by boat. We will have ample time to speak in relative comfort once we arrive. Have patience, my lady,” he explained.

Howland Reed was an odd man, as odd as she remembered him from their brief encounter almost sixteen years before. Howland came with Ned from White Harbor, the only one out of six companions to live through the rebellion, with the remains of Lyanna Stark, a large red stallion, and a child.

“The horse belongs to Willam, he bid me return it to his widow should he fall. Lady Barbary deserves that much,” She remembered her husband telling her.

“And the child?” she asked, fearing the answer.

“My son, born to me during the war. His mother is dead,” he announced.

Had Catelyn known what trouble the boy would bring to her marriage she might had held her tongue then. But she didn’t.

All through their little row, Howland stood there with an impassive face and those luminous green eyes staring at her. He seemed so small, so unimposing that she could hardly believe when Ned told her, months later when they had resumed speaking, that Howland saved his life from Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. It seemed impossible but the look on Ned’s face told her it was no jape.

Whenever Ned went on tours of the North in the years after, he always made a point to stop at Greywater Watch to see his old friend. According to Maester Luwin, that was an honor rarely given to the Neck in the years since unification. It was long custom among Lords of Winterfell to take their odd pledge of loyalty and then forget about the strange crannogmen and their floating castles.

True to Lord Howland’s prediction they arrived at Greywater Watch early the next morning. The dense, sunken forest they had travelled in for many days suddenly broke and the boats emerged into a huge, round lake. In the middle of the lake, the towers of the castle rose up from the water.

The castle, it could be called that, was like no other Catelyn had ever seen. The walls rose forty feet from the water but even from a distance she could tell that they were made entirely of timber.

Around the castle lay an entire city of the reed and timber dwellings from whence the crannogmen derived their name. Each crannog centered on a large dome made of dried thatch and reeds, with smaller domed roofs attached to the main structure. The homes were built on stilts that raised the dwellings about five feet off the surface of the water, above the cold wetness of the water and the predators hidden beneath it. As she studied them, Catelyn became aware that the houses _bobbed_ with the current, leading her to believe that they truly did float.

Greywater itself was not the largest castle she had ever seen but it was certainly the most distinctive. As the boat rowed closer through the spaces around (and sometimes under) the surrounding crannogs, she became conscious of ripples moving through the castle walls. At first she assumed it was some trick of the light or that it merely the wind moving the thick growth of ivy and moss on the timber wall but the truth was not revealed until the little boat maneuvered through the gate and into the keep.

From the interior, it was plain that Greywater was not a single structure, but a collection of wall-sided barges and floating docks lashed together to form a fortress. By Catelyn’s rough estimate, the castle was composed of thirty of these vessels of varying sizes. Some looked to be enclosed docks while others were obviously domestic quarters. There was even a barge that held what was unmistakably a tavern.

In the center of what would be the courtyard in any other castle was a small island, only large enough to contain a single, massive weirwood tree and collection of ruined walls that looked ancient. The island was connected to the barges by way of bridges from the vessels to a series of sunken trees scattered around the yard.   

Men bearing the lion-lizard sigil of House Reed directed their boat to the largest of the barges, where others waited to help them disembark.

“I had heard of the nature of Greywater before, of course, but seeing it in person… that is a different matter entirely.” She heard Ser Helman Tallhart tell one of his men.

Attendants lead Catelyn and the men to what was surely the great hall of the castle and had bread, salt, and wine laid out for them. She did not see where Lord Howland had gone but before she was able to ask one of the servants, a soldier strode up to where she sat and bowed to her.

“Lady Stark, Lord Reed would be happy to receive you in his solar.”

Catelyn nodded and rose to follow the man to Lord Reed’s study.

“Arya, you will remain here with Ser Helman. I will be back shortly. Do not wander off,” she bid her daughter before leaving. She knew it would do little good. Arya could barely contain her excitement at the strange castle and Catelyn knew that she would likely go exploring the minute she looked away.

Opening the door to the room, she found the Lord of Greywater Watch and High Lord of the Neck seated at a large table. He was in the midst of a conversation with an elderly man with a stooped back and brittle while hair. He abruptly cut himself off at her entrance.

“Lady Catelyn, I thank you for joining me. I must apologize for putting off this conversation for so long; even with my men watching the roads and inlets, there are still dangers in the Neck that remain unseen,” he trailed off slightly before collecting himself and locking eyes with Catelyn. “But this is a topic we can no longer delay. I have heard the news from Winterfell.”

“So you know that my…crippled son has disappeared with only your two children and simpleton stable-boy for protection?” she began imperiously. “I had hoped you might have more information on the topic beyond what Maester Luwin could fit into his missive to the Twins.”

“Regretfully, I know little more than you on their flight. I received word from my son and heir Jojen scant days before they left the castle, but could not decipher his meaning until it was too late.”

Catelyn studied the man seated before her. He cut a small and slight figure, yes, but he was not lacking in natural authority. His expression was guarded and stern, not unlike the face her husband wore to the outside world.

_No wonder they got on so well. Her late husband had few true friends, but those he did have had little in common._

“And when you did decipher the meaning, did it contain clues as to their destination? I had hoped to find them here, foolish as that may be,” she admitted.

“Yes and no. I know what their destination is but no not where to find it. No living man does, that knowledge has been lost.” He said quietly. “I too wish they had simply travelled here, to Greywater, but I fear they have gone in the opposite direction. They are headed North, to the Wall.”

“The Wall? What would Bran want with the Wall? Surely he does not mean to join the Watch,” she asked, confused. “This letter, you will let me read it surely? I need to know exactly what your son said.”

“Of course, my lady, but first I must ask you something, something that might seem strange.” He paused for a moment before speaking again. “In your time as Lady of Winterfell, have you come across the terms ‘greensight’ or ‘greenseer’?“

Catelyn thought the term sounded somewhat familiar but couldn’t place it. Ned had told her so much of the legends of the north that it all ran together in her mind.

“I thought not. It is an old tale, mostly forgotten and thrust in children’s fables if remembered at all. Greenseers are men who follow the old way, the worship of the Old Gods that many know little of. For their faith, the gods grant them visions, or green dreams, through the weirwoods,” explained Howland.

Catelyn cut in, “Visions?”

“Prophesy, my lady. The dreams do not follow normal logic and are difficult to decipher, but they tell the seer of the future. These visions of the future do not always come to pass in the way the dreamer expects them to, but they do always come to pass in some shape.

“This ability manifests itself in those on the cusp of manhood and comes at a terrible cost. The will of the gods is too much for any one man to bear for long and the labor of seeing the visions extinguishes the life of a dreamer long before their time.” As Lord Reed uttered this statement, Catelyn perceived a deep sadness wash over the man. “There were men, once, who could gain control over the visions and exert their will through the roots and branches of the weirwoods, and inhabit the minds of various creatures. The Children of the Forest called them greenseers and they were a mighty force while the Children still haunted the forests of Westeros.”

“My lord, I thank you for tell me this lesson in the myths of the North, but pray tell me what does this have to do with Bran or your children?”

Howland stood and walked to the window before answering. “My son Jojen has suffered these green dreams for some time now. He saw himself in Winterfell, teaching a crippled lord to fly. This was years before Bran’s fall, my lady, before he knew that I would send him there.

“Your son Bran has these green dreams too, in a different way that my son. Jojen was coy in his letters, but he believes Bran has a connection to his direwolf far beyond that between master and familiar. He writes that Bran is a warg. His last letter told me that they had to seek the three eyed crow, but I knew not what he meant.

“I believe I do now, however. They seek the last greenseer,” Howland said with certainty.

“And where would they find this ‘greenseer’?”

“Far to the north, my lady, in the lands beyond the Wall. That is their destination.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Catelyn Stark was a faithful woman, holding her devotion to the Seven near her heart. It was at her request that Ned broke with tradition and built a sept in Winterfell, the first in the eight-thousand year history of the castle. She wanted to scoff and dismiss Lord Howland’s words as the fairy tale they obviously were, but she could not.

No, she did not believe that there was an old magician living the in the Lands of Always Winter, but she did not doubt that her son and the Reeds were travelling there regardless of the truth of the matter. She had attempted to instruct her children in her faith, believing they would be better off as followers of the Seven than the old gods. Unfortunately none of her children followed her in her devotion aside from Sansa.

She resolved to spend no more time than was absolutely necessary at Greywater so that she could continue her journey as soon as was possible. She sent word ahead to Maester Luwin to direct more searchers north from Winterfell and she was certain they would locate Bran and the Reeds soon enough.

Her discussions with Lord Howland were, on topics other than Bran, informative. He told her of the increased ironborn activity beyond the three ships his men destroyed the night he found them. Apparently ships have scouted the shores of the Neck for weeks before they finally made their move for Moat Cailin and they had not gone unnoticed. When they finally made their move Howland’s men were ready for them.

During their first day at Greywater, word came that Lord Reed’s men destroyed three other groups of reavers making their way through the Neck. Robb’s garrison at Moat Cailin was informed of the danger and was a state of high alert with several hundred crannogmen as reinforcements. Word was also sent to Winterfell.

She worried for the rest of the western coast of the north, but of them Lord Reed had no information.

It was dawn of their second morning at Greywater Watch and her group made final preparations to leave. This included the unenviable task of finding and corralling Arya into a boat, tearing her away from the strange wonder of the castle. Several of Master Helman’s men had been set to the task but it was Catelyn who found her daughter.

She was in Lord Reed’s solar talking excitedly with the man and she smiled as her mother entered.

“And then Robb made my brother Jon the new Lord of the Crossing! I don’t think he really wanted to be a lord but he will be a good one I think,” she babbled to the man, who wore an amused smile.

“That is wonderful, Arya, I am happy for your brother. You know, I met him when he was only a small babe, I’m pleased he has grown up to be a fine man.”

Catelyn cut in before Arya could say any more, telling her daughter that “the whole company is waiting on you. Bid farewell to Lord Howland and go down to the docks at once!”

As her daughter left she turned to Lord Reed.

“My lord, I must thank you for hospitality and protection these past few days. It seems that Winterfell is once again in your debt.”

The man only nodded and Catelyn turned to leave. His voice stopped her.

“My lady, forgive me for what I am about to ask. But something young Princess Arya said a moment ago… Your son has truly made Jon Snow the Lord of the Crossing?” he asked with a deeply apprehensive look.

“Yes,” she answered, taking care not to become short with the man to whom she owed so much. “Yes, Jon now holds all that formerly belonged to the Freys. But he is Jon Snow no longer—Robb legitimized him.”

The man’s eyes opened just slightly as she said the last part.

“Forgive me, but he is now Jon _Stark_?”

“Yes, of course. Robb could not very well give him his _mother’s_ name as no one knows who she was.”

Howland only nodded and fell into silent contemplation. He mumbled his goodbyes as she left the room in a state of mild confusion.          

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

To her immense relief, the remainder of their journey to Winterfell passed without incident. After leaving their crannog guides and boats at Moat Cailin, they commandeered mounts from the garrison and completely their travels in only three more weeks.

As the familiar towers and keeps of Winterfell rose over the top of the Wolfswood, Catelyn felt her heart soar with pure joy. She and Arya abandoned their men and closed the remaining distance at a brisk trot. Entering the south gate, Catelyn was immediately greeted with the sight of little Rickon, grown so much in her absence, holding Maester Luwin’s hand. As a groom she didn’t recognize helped her from her mount, Rickon released Luwin’s hand and sprinted towards her. Wrapping her youngest child in a crushing hug, she cried.

She was finally home and nothing could compel her to leave for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you guys like this chapter, I had some trouble with it. Catelyn might just hang out at Winterfell for the rest of the war, I don't anticipate writing another POV chapter for her.
> 
> Hopefully Jon's actions, large and small, in the war and their lasting effects are becoming clearer with the addition of the changed Jaime-Catelyn scene. 
> 
> As is becoming habit, let me know if there are any glaring errors in the chapter.


	6. Jon

He stood on the walls of the castle until Robb’s column disappeared from view.

Jon knew he would rejoin the fight soon enough, but that knowledge did not dampen the unease he felt by staying behind even if Robb was the one who ordered it. He protested but his brother would hear none of it.

“Jon, while no man here doubts your importance or prowess, I think this army will survive your absence for a few weeks at least. Stay here for the nonce, get your house in order. You are now the lord of one of the most important strongholds in my kingdom, you need to have at least a passing familiarity with it and its people.”

So will a smile the King of the North and the Trident left at the head of roughly eight-thousand soldiers to wage a war of raids, hit-and-run, and ambush against a foe that commanded more than twice their numbers. The rest of the army was already in the process of dividing itself for the coming campaign to the south of Riverrun under the Blackfish.

Breaking off his vigil, Jon turned back to the keep of the castle.

_My castle._

It still felt strange to think of it as his. Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the rain which had begun falling earlier this same morning, Jon took a moment to contemplate his new seat.

The south castle, the only one he could see in this weather, was not the prettiest fortress in the Seven Kingdoms. It was rather a squat thing, possessing none of the elegance of Riverrun or even the unadorned majesty of Winterfell, but six hundred years of Frey gold had not gone to waste. It was a stout, well-built castle with thick, high curtain walls and a moat surrounding it.

With its numerous and sizable barracks and stables, Jon could imagine that perhaps three-thousand men could live here in relative comfort if it came to a siege. It would not take near as many to hold it against a force of nearly any size, however. With the height and thickness of the walls, not to mention the depth of the moat, five-hundred could hold it near as well as five-thousand.

Even if an enemy force were to breach one of the twin keeps, there was still the Water Tower and the other castle to deal with. No, this castle would not be taken easily or without bloodshed.

_Thank the gods it didn’t come to a siege the other night. We might have been here for months._

Jon broke off his reflections and walked into the great hall, the site of what was nearly the end of his brother’s war and his kingdom. The blood was mostly gone from the stone floor, product of hours of backbreaking labor by the remaining staff. He had not asked them to work at it day and night, but apparently many in the castle were eager to prove their worth to their new lord.

He was disinclined to keep any of the old servants on, truth be told. He did not trust anyone associated with the late Lord Walder and his family. While many, he was sure, held no real loyalty to the family there where certainly some Frey loyalists still lurking among them. It would be simpler to toss them all out and start anew.

At the end of the hall, seated at a table with stacks of paper spread out in front of him, was Jonnel Snow. By rights the man should still be abed in the infirmary but not even a severely broken leg could stop the man from discharging his new duties as Jon’s steward and captain. With his injured leg propped up on a cushioned stool, the man seemed to be conducting interviews with the servants one at a time and taking notes as they answered his questions. Jon approached him.

“So,” he said to a middle-aged cook while peering at a slip of parchment, “I see from the Frey accounts that you have been in service to this house for over twenty years. Is that right?”

“Aye, m’lord. Started in the castle as a cook’s maid when I was only a girl. Worked m’way up from there. Been running the whole kitchen for five years or near abouts,” she answered, clearly nervous at the question and Jon’s appearance at her side.

Jonnel continued to ignore him for the moment and asked, “Would you say that Lord Walder was a kind man or a good master? Or his sons or grandsons?”

“Kind? No, I reckon none would call him kind. He paid our wages prompt, which was something I suppose. His sons… they was a mixed bag, as they say. Some were kind and some were not. Old Ser Stevron, I always thought he was a fine man but his sons… well, doesn’t matter much now I suppose.”

Jonnel made a mark on some paper and said, “Very well Jenny, you may return to your duties.”

Finally looking up at Jon, he greeted him as “Lord Stark,” a title he was still unused to. Suppressing the instinct to look around for his father, Jon spoke.

“Jonnel, glad to see you up and about. I don’t suppose Maester Allar granted you permission to leave your bed, did he?”

“Bah, maesters always think a man is on his last breath. It’s my leg that’s broken, not my arse. I can sit a chair well enough. Besides, too much to do to lay about all day.”

Jon picked up some the parchment and read Jonnel’s notes on the servants he already questioned. He used some sort of notation system that Jon couldn’t make out.

“I’ve been thinking of simply starting over with staff. I don’t know that I can trust any of Frey’s people here. It would only take a few Frey loyalists to wreak havoc on this castle,” Jon explained.

Jonnel’s mouth turned to a slight frown at his words.

“Aye, you will want to watch out for the die-hards, but Lord Walder and his brood were not the type to inspire much loyalty amongst their servants. Some will need to be dismissed, obviously, but I caution you against dismissing the lot. That would be a cruelty, my lord. Even if provided with a reference, few would be willing to take in any servants of a known breaker of sacred guest-right. You would be condemning the women to prostitution and the men to banditry at best.

“On the other hand, if you were to give most a second chance you would gain their loyalty beyond any doubt,” he finished with determination.

Jon thought back to Jonnel Snow’s own history and felt embarrassed. He was the product of a serving girl losing her virtue to a young man-at-arms, a common enough tale. The uncommon part was that Bernarr Glover, Lord Galbart’s father, took pity on the girl and her child and allowed them to remain in his service at Deepwood Motte. He even allowed Jonnel to receive a better education than most men.

“I understand. How do you intend to root out the loyalists?” Jon asked.

“Much the same way I determined that ol’ Jenny was not one to worry about. I was raised amongst servants and can always spot a falsehood.”

Jon wrinkled his brow and asked, “How can you tell that the cook does not harbor loyalty to the Freys? She appeared to have kind things to say about Ser Stevron and little ill to pass along regarding Walder?”

“It’s not the ones like Jenny you need to worry about, few servants are willing to speak ill of their masters even after they die. It’s part of their upbringing. It’s the ones who go on and on about what a right cunt Lord Walder was and how they are glad he got what was coming to him that you need to keep an eye on. They are either truly disloyal or attempting to ingratiate themselves to you. Either way, they are not to be trusted.”

Jon nodded at Jonnel’s logic. “Very well, carry on then. I need to speak with that maester, I haven’t had the opportunity to sit down with him with all the commotion.”

Jon climbed the steps up to the maester’s turret, just below the rookery, and found Maester Allar making notes on some parchment. The maester stood and gave Jon a respectful bow as he entered.

He was a young man, around five and twenty if Jon were forced to guess, with fair skin and alarmingly blue eyes. His hair was a very pale shade of blonde. He did not carry himself like a young man, however. He was sure in his movements and words, possessing a noble bearing. Jon decided that he must be a younger son of a nobleman. His chain was a simple, comprising no more than two dozen links and did not hang far below his neck.

“Well met, my lord. Had I known you had need of me I would have made my way to your chambers, there is no need for you to journey all the way up here,” the man said.

“I don’t mind the climb and I wanted to speak with you in private in any case. We have not had the opportunity to get to know one another with all the events of the past few days,” Jon began.

“Yes, the past few days have seen some drastic changes in the household, what with the removal of my former lord and your installation,” Allar noted dispassionately. Jon noticed a slight inflection to his voice, but could not place the accent.

“This turn of events does not bother you?” He asked, worried that this man might wish him ill for the fall of the Freys.

“Bother me, my lord?”

Jon hesitated for a moment before clarifying, “You served lord Walder for some time, it would be natural to build affection for the family you serve.”

“I do not serve a family, my lord, only the master of the castle whoever it may be. My loyalty to Walder Frey was broken the moment you and your brother the King took this castle from him. I am bound by sacred oath to serve you now, as lord of the Crossing.”

Jon knew the basics of the maester’s oath, of course. Maester Luwin had taught him a little about his order, including this fact. But he could not easily believe that Luwin would so readily accept the downfall of his family.

 Luwin had birthed each of his siblings apart from Robb and nursed them back to health and mended their cuts and bruises countless times. He advised father on innumerable topics and always seemed invested in the success of House Stark.

 “So a maester never feels torn in two directions? Even with your vows, your order live with and care for a family for all your days. There must be a sense of loyalty born from years of service,” Jon suggested.

“Of course, we are but men. For thousands of years maesters have struggled with this vow. Some find it easier than others to disassociate their emotions when serving a castle but others are eventually lost to it. It is no easy thing to abandon those you have lived with for many years, it stings of bitter betrayal.”

“So you feel as though you have betrayed Lord Walder?”

“I certainly do not, my lord,” Allar snapped, affronted at the question. “I fulfilled my vows to the highest standard under Lord Walder and will continue to do so under your lordship. I am simply informing you of the historical and natural tendencies of those who wear the chain of my order, not condoning their actions.”

He fixed Jon with a serious look for a moment.

“I take my vows seriously and would never dishonor myself or my order by working against the best interests of the lord of this castle. Besides which, Lord Walder was not a man to inspire much ingrained loyalty amongst his subjects. He had little understanding of my vows, it turns out, and his final directions to me were ones that I could not carry out.”

Jon raised an eyebrow and Allar answered his unspoken question.

“He gave me three letters to be sent in the event that his plan failed. One was to Casterly Rock, informing his son Emmon, who is married to Lord Tywin’s sister Genna Lannister. Another was addressed to Lord Tywin himself and the last a letter from Lord Bolton to his bastard son in the North,” he said while handing Jon the three letters.

“You did not send them?” he asked in confusion.

“Of course not, Lord Stark. When his plan failed it was clear that your brother was the ruler of this fortress and if I sent these letters I would be working against his interests. I do not break my vows.”

“But you knew of Lord Frey and Boltons plans? Did you advise them against their intended slaughter of my brother the king and all his soldiers?” Jon asked with a raised voice.

“I informed his lordship that breaking sacred guest rite would stain his family’s reputation for generations, yes, but I did not advise against it, that was not my place. I have only been serving this castle for three years, Lord Stark, a blink of the eye to a man Lord Walder’s age. He was a suspicious man and did not trust me or my counsel.”

Jon was clearly taken aback by this admission and was silent for a moment as he processed the new information. All Frey men who had knowledge of the conspiracy had already been put to death in full view of the castle and its inhabitants, so Allar knew what he risked by telling Jon this. But the man did not seem fearful for his life or place. He said this all so disinterestedly that Jon was convinced that the man did take his vows as literally as he claimed.

“If you have doubts as to my sincerity it is your prerogative to request a replacement be sent from the Citadel,” he told Jon after a few moments of silence between them.

“I do not believe that to be necessary, Maester Allar,” Jon said, making up his mind. “I just wish to understand more of your order. I was raised by our maester at Winterfell and find it hard to believe that he would so easily serve another who caused my family harm,” Jon explained.

“Perhaps not, but even Maester Luwin is bound by the same vows that bound me. If such an event came to pass he too would be tested.”

“You know Luwin?” Jon asked. He had not mentioned Luwin’s name aloud, so he was surprised by Allar’s statement.

“We have never met, of course, but I corresponded with by raven during my days as an acolyte in the Citadel. He was one of the few men to earn this link,” he said pointing to a dark metal link on his chain, “and I wished to benefit from his expertise.”

“I did not realize Luwin kept up his own correspondence with Oldtown,” Jon admitted.

“Yes, Luwin is very well regarded within the Citadel. Archmaester Marwyn told me once that Luwin could have claimed his archmaester’s mask and rod in any of a dozen fields by now if he remained at the Citadel. But he, like me, felt drawn to service in a great house and developed a dislike for intra-order politics.”

“So maesters have a choice whether to leave the Citadel or to stay?” Jon asked. This was an aspect of the order Luwin had never elaborated upon.

“Yes and no. Most men who earn their chain have no choice and are assigned to castles and holdfasts. Others, like me and Luwin before me, were offered a choice. In our cases, a senior archmaester requested that we stay as researchers and scholars within the confines of the Citadel. Only one maester in ten is selected to remain at Oldtown and it is considered a great honor by some. It grants one the opportunity to rise to highest echelons of our order in time. It is from these ranks that the archmaesters are chosen.

“But I, like Luwin before me, felt called to serve elsewhere in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“So archmaesters never serve away from the Citadel?” Jon asked.

“Correct. The only way in which an academic maester will serve in different castle is if they are elected grandmaester by the conclave, the ruling body of the order. The grandmaester, currently Grandmaester Pycelle, will serve out his days on the small council to the Iron Throne and act an advisor to the king. They are the titular head of our order but, in practice, have little to say in the governing of the Citadel. The Conclave of archmaesters rule the order in truth, and they have the power to recall a grandmaester found unsuitable.”

Maester Allar’s barely noticeable accent presented itself again and this time Jon was able to determine its origin. The way he hit the “s” sound reminded him of a group of Dornish traders who came to Winterfell selling baubles and spices when he was a boy. They had been dark of complexion and swarthy, however, where Allar was fair and blonde.

As boys, Jon and Robb were both enamored with a particular book in Winterfell’s library—Daeron I Targaryen’s _Conquest of Dorne_. The story of the Young Dragon, as Daeron I is known, delighted them to no end. The thought that a boy not so much older than they could conquer the previously unassailable desert land in the far south of Westeros served as inspiration for their play-fighting for many years. They would beg father to read them particular parts until they themselves learned their letters. After that, He and Robb read the book so many times that they had memorized every word of the short work.

Jon thought of that book now as he looked at Maester Allar. Daeron categorized the Dornishmen into three district groups; the Salty, the Sandy, and the Stony. The first two were descended predominantly from the Rhoynar migrants who landed in Dorne under Queen Nymeria and possessed the dark complexions and hair of their Rhoynar forbearers. The last groups, the stony Dornish, were decended from the Andals and First Men of the Red Mountains, far from the river that Rhoynar felt at home around. From the description Daeron gave of the stony Dornish, Jon felt relatively confident that Allar came from that stock and gave voice to the opinion.

“Your accent, its Dornish isn’t it?” he asked.

Jon regretted the question as soon as he asked it. The man who spoke so fluidly a moment before on all topics related to the governance of the citadel appeared to clam up and grow uncomfortable. Jon tried to apologize but Allar stopped him.

“No, no. There is nothing to forgive my lord. I was simply surprised by the question. Acolytes and novices in the Citadel are given diction lessons to wash away our regional dialects, but apparently I did not take their lessons to heart.”

“Diction lessons? What is their purpose?” Jon asked.

“The general notion is that a maester gives up his identity when he takes his vows. This means not only dropping your name but your entire identity. We leave all our burdens behind and become single-named monks, in a sense,” Allar answered. Jon detected the slightest shadow cross his face as he said this.

“I had no idea, I suppose that I simply assumed that all maesters came from the Reach or something foolish like that. Every maester I have encountered seems to have the same accent.”

“Yes, that is the point. But no, not all maesters hail from the Reach. More than their fair share come from that region, I will grant you, but no more than three out of every ten or so. The remainder is split between men from all different regions excepting the Iron Isles. The North has historically sent few men to the Citadel as well, but I knew many men in my time there who came from your homeland,” Allar explained.

“Why do so few come from the North?” Jon asked with a raised eyebrow. He was expecting some remark about how backwards northerners are.

“Not, as many in the south would claim, for lack of aptitude I assure you,” the maester clarified. “The northerners I knew where as adept or inept in equal measure to their peers. I am of the opinion that the call to serve in the Night’s Watch saps many young men who would otherwise choose a career as a maester.”

“And the Iron Islands?”

Maester Allar’s face darkened before answering. “The _people_ inhabiting those rocks have made it a habit to execute men of my order at various times in their sordid history. The ironborn would rather drown men of learning than have their children birthed by experienced hands or keep in touch with the mainland. As far as I aware, only a very few castles in the entire archipelago employ maesters. One is the Ten Towers, and that is only because the lord of that castle needs a librarian to care for his substantial collection.”

The man’s distaste for Iron Islanders was palpable, much to Jon’s amusement.

_If only Theon were here to listen to this, I doubt he would be smirking now._

Jon suppressed his pleasure at this confirmation of Theon’s people as barbarians and asked, “Are maesters who leave the Citadel assigned castles at random or this there some other process? Forgive me if answering that question would betray your order’s secrets, but it is something I have always been curious about.”

“I betray no confidence by tell you, Lord Stark,” Allar answered. “In theory the practice is quite simple: the more competent the maester, the more important the castle. In practice this tends to get muddled with politics, especially if there is a younger Hightower or Tyrell son in the running. The order depends on those two houses for much of its support and would never do anything to offend them.

“In my year, the two most powerful castles requesting new Maesters were Dragonstone and the Crossing. By virtue of my performance in the Citadel and the speed with which I earned my collar, I had first choice and chose this fortress over Dragonstone for no other reason than the position at Dragonstone was more complicated. Their old maester had not died, Lord Stannis simply wished for an assistant to help him in his duties. It was an unusual request but the order thought it wise to comply with King Robert’s brother on the matter.

“But, my lord, I fear I have prattled on about my order for far too long. Is there anything else you require of me just now?” Allar asked in a polite tone.

“Just one more thing, maester, and then I will allow you to return to your work. This castle possesses no godswood and I mean to rectify that. I understand that many southrons think the old ways are antiquated or foolish but if I am too be lord of these lands then there must be a godswood with a heart tree close at hand,” Jon announced.

Jon had not the slightest notion about how to go about procuring a weirwood and did not know if Maester Allar would either. Regardless, this was a topic close to Jon’s heart and something that had burned in his mind since first setting foot in his new home. He thought back to Winterfell, how his father would sit below the massive weirwood at the center of the ancient godswood, and how much peace it seemed to bring him. The Twins was no Winterfell, but at least a weirwood would allow the old gods of his former home within these walls of his new one.

To Jon’s surprise Allar looked at him with something like approval in his eyes.

“Yes, I was hoping you might wish to see to that. No castle should be without a godswood,” he agreed with no hesitation.

Jon was still slightly confused and said, “I’m glad you concur, but am curious as to why? I did not know that many south of the Neck respected the old way.”

The maester thought for a moment before answering. “While it is true that few outside the North follow the old gods, there are notable exceptions. The Blackwoods, as you know, and a few houses in the Vale, including the Royces, although they keep the Seven as well. The Clawmen are proud descendants of the First Men and have long scorned the faith of the Andals. There are others scattered throughout the land, including a few houses of the Red Mountains in Dorne.”

“In any case, I am certain that the Green Men of the Isle of Faces will be more than willing to gift this castle a weirwood tree. It might even be a large one, as it could be taken by barge nearly the entire journey. I will send word to the God’s Eye and begin the arrangements.”

Jon nodded and said his thanks before leaving the man’s chamber. His thoughts strayed to a lesson Maester Luwin gave to him and Robb, many years ago. Luwin, most likely at their father’s urging, had gone into great detail on the multitude of houses that were descended from the First Men.

While many houses had forgotten, or chosen to forget, their roots, the legacy of the first men to live on Westeros lived on in their blood if not their practices. The Tully’s of Riverrun had started as bannermen to the last First Men King of the Trident, Tristifer Mudd, and the Lannisters predated the Andal invasion by thousands of years. Even the Westerlings, Robb’s new goodfamily, traced their line back to petty kings of pre-invasion Westerlands.

The Royces had ruled as King of Mountain and Vale before they were brought low by the Andals lead by Artos Arryn. In the Reach, the Gardener kings were a lineage stretching back to the age of heroes until their line was broken by Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives on the Field of Fire. Even so, the current lords of the Reach, the Tyrells, claim descent from these ancient kings.

In Dorne, the Daynes, and their famous greatsword Dawn, date to time before the Andals. As Jon recalled that fact, his mind leapt unbidden a name he heard only once.

There were others, of course, but the lesson was long ago and Jon could not recall them all.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over the next dozen days Jon spent the majority of his time speaking with his new household and in conference with Jonnel Snow and Maester Allar. The lands controlled by the High Lord of the Crossing were expansive and Jon knew little about them. He regretted that he would not have the opportunity to travel widely among his new domain until after the war was over and contented himself with studying maps and reading tax ledgers.

Sworn directly to the Twins were the town of Mistlewatch and the small castle of Hag’s Mire. The master of Mistlewatch was an old man with no sons, so it would fall to Jon to choose a successor when the time came.

Jared Nyland, Ser of Hag’s Mire, was one of the few bannermen that would make the transition from Frey to Stark rule. The Nylands have held Hag’s Mire for far longer than the Freys held the Twins and they always looked at their up jumped overlords with something just short of outright hostility. He and his family took no part in the events of Edmure’s wedding and Jon hoped that he could reach an accord with the man. It would be invaluable to have a close relationship with his closest bannerman, Jon thought, recalling the friendly and frequent visits by Lord Medger Cerwyn and his family to Winterfell.

_Poor Lord Medger, may the gods grant him rest._

 Farther afield, beyond the borders of the Twins and the Freylands, were the counties of Mistlewood and Erenford. The lords of both lands had been declared disposed by Robb a few days after the wedding and Patrek Mallister currently led a small force to remove them from their castles. Robb offered them safe passage to the borders of his kingdom and allowed them to leave with what valuables they could carry, but he authorized Patrek to remove them by force if necessary.

The more Jon studied the map and spoke with Maester Allar, the more he realized what valuable land his brother granted him. Beyond the enormous revenues generated by the Twins itself, Jon was one of the few high lords in the entire Seven Kingdoms to have access to both the Sunset and Narrow seas. Even with the Cape of Eagles swearing fealty to Seaguard, Jon possessed ports on both coasts.

“What is the state of this road? The one running between Mistlewood and Carcroft?” Jon asked Allar one evening.

Glancing at the map, the maester answered, “Not excellent, my lord. Most supplies for the Twins are carried by the river and the road was never a priority for Lord Walder.”

“Aye, but it might be worth it to see it repaired,” Jonnel cut in. “Would make trade with White Harbor a sight easier.”

“Well, put it on the list then. Gods, I hope I live through this war for no other reason than I would hate it if all this planning went for naught,” Jon said, rubbing his eyes. There was a knock on the door to his study. One of his understewards entered.

“I apologize for interrupting, my lord, but three lords have arrived with a few retainers and request an audience,” the man announced.

Rising to his feet, Jon walked to the great hall. Upon entering, he was greeted by the surprising sight of Maege Mormont, Galbart Glover, and Jason Mallister. He immediately called for food and drink to be set out and for guest chambers to be readied.

After allowing them to settle in and quench their appetites, Jon spoke to his brother’s bannermen. They told him of their dealings with Lord Howland Reed and his acceptance of Robb’s plans to fortify the Neck. They told Jon to be prepared to welcome a few hundred crannogmen who would be making their way down to the Riverlands to help in Robbs unconventional war.

The news of Ironborn ships attempting to make their way to Moat Cailin was troubling to say the least, but Jon was relieved to hear that Lord Reed had stopped all attempted thus far.

Lord Galbart, agreeing with Jon, said “I’m glad that the king sent my brother than those men back to the North to help fortify the west coast. A few thousand men will make all the difference if this is truly more than isolated reaving.”

“Aye, well we won’t know if it is until Theon Greyjoy arrives back at Pyke. No one knows who sits in Balon’s chair now, but whoever it is they clearly have less regard for Theon’s life than his father did,” Jon added.

Maege Mormont told him of their encounter with Lady Catelyn and Arya, who Jon was relieved to hear was fine.

“When we said we had to continue on to the south, the little princess couldn’t wait to inform us of your new lordship here, Jon Snow,” the lady of Bear Island said. “I hope your brother made a wise choice, it would be well to have a man of honor holding these lands after the crimes of the Freys.”

Jon met her challenging gaze without wavering. “I shall endeavor until the end of my days to prove him right, Lady Mormont. And its Jon Stark now, as I am sure you know.”

At his slight challenge, Maege’s stern face held a ghost of a smile, “I expect you will, Lord Stark. My brother had kind things to say about you, despite your departure from the Wall. Not many could claim the same.”

Jon flushed slightly, still somewhat ashamed of his inability to say his vows. It was true that he was free to leave as he did, but still felt as though he abandoned his brothers. Jon hoped that Sam, Pyp, Grenn and all the others fared well in their watch.

Turning to Lord Jason, whose lands lay adjacent to his own, Jon attempted to make conversation with the older man. In truth, Jon was intimidated by Lord Mallister. He was a powerful man despite his years and his face bore many scars gained in battle or tourney. His grey hair was pulled into a knot behind his head and hung down to below his thick neck. Jon saw him fight during the Whispering Wood, and knew the man was still a fierce warrior and renowned tourney knight. His family’s valyrian steel sword, Eagle’s Cry, stood propped against the back of his chair.

Lord Jason was not one for small talk, however, and brooded in near silence throughout the meal. Luckily for Jon, Lord Galbart was in good spirits and picked up any slack that might otherwise have appeared in the conversation.

“You’ve made a fine choice with Jonnel Snow as your steward, Jon. He has served my family loyally for his entire life and will make a fine castellan when you return to the war. Maybe he will finally find himself a wife as well!” The last sentence was said in a loud shout directed at where Jonnel himself was eating further down the hall.

Maege laughed at her friend’s antics and turned to Jon, “You will have to think about that for yourself as well. Your first responsibility is to secure an heir to this castle. A fine northern lass would do you well, but I suspect it might be wiser to look closer to home.”

During his youth, Jon was so committed to joining the Watch that he never truly thought about taking a wife and the thought was daunting. He never possessed Robb or Theon’s grace amongst the fairer sex and didn’t even know what to look for. He calmed himself by knowing that the matter would keep until after they won the war, but it did not stop others from harping on this issue.

As the impromptu feast finally wound down, Jon bid goodnight to his guests and rose to begin the walk to his chambers. Before he could leave the hall, Lord Jason stopped him.

“Lord Stark, I wish to speak with you in private.”

Removing themselves to an anteroom off the main hall, Jon gestured for the Lord of Seaguard to sit before asking, “How may I serve you, Lord Mallister?”

The older man fixed Jon with his piercing blue eyes and said, “It is my wish that, if we are to be neighbors, we might come to an accord. Patrek is a good man, but does not fully speak for me in all matters. While I thank your brother for giving me lordship over something that, by rights, already belonged to me in the Cape of Eagles, I will tell you truly that having the king’s bastard brother take over the lands bordering my own is displeasing.

“Regardless, the decision was his and I hope for all our sakes that he showed wisdom beyond his years rather than childish sentimentality. I am aware of your actions in this castle, so I know that my son might now be dead or captive were it not for your efforts. But I also know that a child born on the wrong side of the bed, even if raised by Lord Eddard, is imbued with natural guile and schemes. I do not intend to insult you, only make my reservations regarding this arrangement perfectly clear.”

Despite his assurances, Jon was deeply insulted and forced himself to be calm. He thought he came to a sort of peace with his bastardry during the campaign or at least had become numb to the japes directed his way, but he was clearly wrong. He wished he could simply rage at the man and expel him from his castle but knew it would be rash and deeply foolish.

“I thank you for your _candor_ , Lord Mallister,” Jon said with an even voice. “It is my hope that I will continue to prove myself to all of my brother’s bannermen even more fully than I have done so already. In the meantime, you can content yourself with the knowledge that despite being a legitimized bastard I will be a truer neighbor than any godsforsaken Frey to come before me.”

“We shall see what the gods intend, Jon Stark. If you are the man others claim you to be, if you are truly honorable, then our houses might become friends. Prove yourself to the realm and we might even be family. I have a daughter only a few years your junior, but I am loath to consider giving my beloved daughter’s hand to any but the very best of men. I bid you goodnight, Lord Stark.”

With that the man rose and left Jon to silently fume at his table. The audacity of the man to sit in his hall, after enjoying his hospitality, after he saved the life of his son and heir, and insult him left him in a rage. And then to leave such carrot dangling for him at the end! As though Jon were some baseborn butcher’s boy, overcome with even the idea of marrying a lord’s daughter. It was almost laughable.

However, as he calmed himself with a hearty swig of ale, the alliance he spoke of was not something to be easily cast aside, no matter the insulting manner in which it was proposed. Lord Jason enjoyed wide respect among the riverlords, so an alliance with him would bring not only the power of Seaguard but the esteem of other southrons who were disinclined to respect a northern bastard.

_No, stop. I will not marry until I am sure my head will not decorate the walls of the Red Keep in two moons time._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 The next morning, after he saw the three lords off, Jon resolved to finish his business at the Twins over the next two days and rejoin the war as soon as possible. He had no desire to hide behind these walls for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

So he set about finalizing the appointments to positions of leadership within the household and garrison as quickly as was possible, a task made easier by Jonnel Snow’s tireless inquiries. It was times like these that he truly appreciated his father’s insistence that he and Robb share lessons, even those detailing Robb’s future duties as lord of a great castle. It was not a future any could have foreseen for Jon, but father made it clear that he was expected to know a nobleman’s duty even if he never was one himself.

That evening, as they still worked, Maester Allar came to his solar. A raven had come from Pinkmaiden bearing the king’s seal. Breaking it, Jon read.

_Brother,_

_The Lannister and Tyrell armies have commenced their invasion with all their strength. They have split into two separate forces, one marching up the king’s road and the other advancing along the coast up from Rosby. Our strategy is working but I need you to reinforce my great uncle’s men. I cannot say where he is in this letter, but I have dispatched riders who should reach you on the road south. Wait for the men Lord Howland is sending and march with haste. We will need you and the crannogmen._

_The Tyrell-Lannister alliance is stronger than we initially feared—word has come from King’s Landing and Sansa has been set aside for Lord Mace’s daughter._

_Robb_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get into the order of maesters a little bit, always been interested in them. Allar is going to be a more complete character in future appearances, he is still unsure around the new lord. 
> 
> Next chapter will be from the Wall, where I will attempt to explore what Jon's absence has meant to the watch. I'm still trying to decide who the new lord commander will be. Or it might be a Robb chapter. 
> 
> I know that the Crossing does not have access to the Narrow Sea in cannon, but I changed it so that a small piece between the edge of the Vale and the Neck is controlled by it. That is where the port of Carcroft sits. 
> 
> Finally, I'm basing most of my geography on the Game of Thrones Crusader Kings II mod.


	7. The Lord Commander

From his vantage seven-hundred feet above the ground, Ser Denys Mallister, 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, was able to see many miles into the lands beyond the Wall. Despite his considerable vantage point, he felt as blind as Maester Aemon.

It had long been his sole ambition to rise to his current position, but this success had turned to ashes in his mouth.

Since winning a close election against his bitter rival, Cotter Pyke, and that creature from King’s Landing, Janos Slynt, Ser Denys knew that his command was notable only for its failures. The murderer of Jeor Mormont was never caught and it looked likely that he never would be. His predecessor was found in the Lord Commander’s chambers gruesomely beaten to death, with nearly every bone in his body broken, according to Maester Aemon.

The letter he wrote to accompany the rider bearing House Mormont’s ancestral blade, Longclaw, back to Bear Island was the most displeasing of his long life. It is no easy thing to inform the grandniece of a man so respected that his murders will likely go unfound and unpunished.  

Events beyond the Wall were an equal mystery to all within the Watch. Patrol after patrol would either never return or return a few men short and half-mad. Men who had served at the Wall for nearly as long as he had were raving on about creatures of ice and men returning from the dead. From those few wildlings they captured they knew that Mance Rayder was preparing for a bold step, but no one knew what form it would take.

Before his murder, Mormont was preparing for a great ranging beyond the Wall but those plans were halted at his death and Denys was not of a mind to make such a bold, but risky, move just yet. He had hopes that the final ranging party he dispatched under the command of his most capable subordinate, Qhorin HalfHand, would return and finally bring him the intelligence he so desperately needed.

With the Wall so woefully undermanned, he could not afford to send out any more rangings and still expect to amount event a passible resistance to Mance Rayder should the rumors of wildling unification be true.

“Lord Commander,” a voice behind him called, “men approach from the treeline.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the sentry’s horn began to blow, but just the once.

“Well, let’s go see who it is,” he announced, turning towards the lift.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taking a seat in his solar in the Lord Commander’s Tower, Ser Denys surveyed the two thin, ragged, and exhausted looking men seated before him. Dalbridge and Stonesnake were two veteran rangers and members of the group Qhorin lead beyond the wall months before. Their state upon returning to the Wall spoke volumes of what had come to pass.

“The Halfhand is dead,” Stonesnake announced.

“As are the others we went out with,” Dalbridge continued. “Wildlings attacked our group while we were in the Frostfangs looking for their host. We had captured a few the day before and they told us tales that we found difficult to believe, so it was decided that we should confirm them before returning.

“We fought them off but all the others aside from me, Stonesnake here, and Ebben were killed. Ebben was wounded and died a few days later. Horses died a few days after that. We came the rest of the way on foot.”

The Lord Commander took a few moments to digest the news. He was depending on the Halfhand to take up the mantel of First Ranger, few others had the ability to do it.

Finally, he asked, “What did you learn of Mance and his plans?”

Dalbridge and Stonesnake looked at each other before the former answered, “It is as we feared; Mance has unified all the wildlings and they are, or were, gathered in the Frostfangs to meet before marching south. To the Wall.”

“How many?”

“Tens of thousands of warriors, at the very least. A hundred thousand including the women and children.”

“By the gods, each Brother could kill a twenty and we would not make a scratch. How long do we have?”

“Not long enough—days, a week maybe.”

Denys paled.

“Days? If that be the case, all is lost. We cannot hope to repel an attack like this without help from the rest of the kingdom, and we will receive no help. The lion’s share of the North’s strength is in the Riverlands fighting the Lannisters and no southron house will weaken themselves during a war that threatens to rip the nation asunder to help us fight savages wearing animal pelts!”

Dalbridge nodded and asked, “Well, Lord Commander, what are your orders then?”

“Dalbridge, you are now First Ranger. Organize the most experienced fighters you can find and train all the others. Many of the stewards and builders have not drawn a bow or swung a sword since they first came to the Watch. There is not much else we can do. Our cries for help from the southern kingdoms have all gone unanswered; we must depend on our brothers and the strength of the Wall alone.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the Ninth day after the return of the two rangers, as the Lord Commander began to hope against hope that perhaps the Wildling coalition had broken or changed plans, the sentry horn sounded twice and the battle for the wall began.

The two days following were the hardest he had ever known in his many years manning the Wall. Standing up atop the Wall and looking down on an unending sea of vicious wildings, the chances of his men, less than 600 of whom survived, overcoming this horde seemed impossible.

The tunnel gate under the Wall fell on the first night and only the quick thinking and personal sacrifice of Donal Noye, Castle Black’s blacksmith, prevented the battle from ending before the sun even rose on that day. Charging into the tunnel whilst his brothers fled, Noye came face to face with a giant, something Denys had not believed existed until a few hours earlier. While fighting this monstrous creature, Donal also struck blows to the wooden supports one by one until, with his last strength, he smashed the side of the ice tunnel, causing it to collapse on himself and the giant.

This sacrifice and countless others bought them two more days than the Lord Commander had thought possible.  

Now, watching the sun rise on what could be his last day, Lord Commander Denys Mallister was resigned to his fate. It was only a horn that broke him from his reverie. He turned to Ser Alliser Thorne, grim-faced and nursing a wound to his side but still living.

“Tell whatever fool is blowing the signal horn that we all know damned well there are wildlings out there.”

Thorne did not respond immediately but instead listened intently.

“That’s not the sentry horn, that’s coming from the wildling camp.”

Moving to the battlements atop the wall, the two men looked out to where the wildling army, if one could use that term, was bivouacked. From their vantage, the sounds of a battle were clearing coming from the sleepy camp.

Less than an hour later, with the entirety of the Castle Black garrison standing on the edge of the Wall, a single rider emerged from the forest. He was wearing full plate, riding a destrier and carrying a banner with a sigil none recognized. From the distance, all they could recognize was a bright red heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long break between chapters, I switched jobs and haven't had the opportunity to write as often. I thought I would upload this short chapter on events up in the far north to get the process going again.
> 
> So, Jon's absence from the wall had at least a few big impacts. Jeor Mormont did not survive the wight attack and the great ranging never happened. Because of that, the Watch is still mostly ignorant of the threat of the WW but has more men to defend the wall.
> 
> Anyways, let me know if you find any typos or whatever and I will go back in and change them. 
> 
> Next chapter will get into Robb's war against the Iron Throne once more. Thanks for reading.


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